My Blue Christmas
by starry19
Summary: Now complete! Collaboration with MleeWrite and Donnamour1969. Featuring regrets, remedies, making peace with the past, and one very merry Christmas.
1. Chapter 1

**AN:** You read that right - this is a collaboration with MleeWrite and Donna. I'm so far beyond excited for this that it's not even funny. As you might have guessed, this has a Christmas slant to it, which I'm also ridiculously happy about.

Anyway, I'm up first! Hope you enjoy!

**Blue Christmas**

_Dear Lisbon,_

This letter will self-destruct in five seconds.

In reality, there's so much I want to tell you about life as it is now, but just can't. Isn't that ironic? You always hated not knowing my plans, and now that I'm more than willing to tell them to you, I'm afraid for both of our sakes if I do. Deniability for you, like always. That sometimes seems like it was the only thing I could ever do to protect you...

**xXxPresent DayxXx**

As it turned out, people in Texas reacted to cold weather about the same way people of California did: poorly. Jane lost track of how many people he caught muttering under their breath as they rubbed their cold hands together in the elevator, or the number of space heaters that were suddenly popping up all over the bullpen. There was probably some sort of fire hazard brewing, and he half-expected for the lights to start flickering because of the drain on the power supply.

Of course, this was the FBI in all of its glory, so nothing of the sort occurred. Nothing to disrupt the cold, austere nature of the place.

Except him, naturally.

A brown leather couch was wedged in one corner of the room, a filing cabinet acting as an end table next to it. It wasn't as comfortable as the one he'd had at the CBI, but it would do.

Especially since the desk closest to him was occupied by Lisbon.

She was enjoying Texas, enjoying her work, and the thought made him smile. For a while, he had been worried that she would turn down the job offer just to be difficult, to show him that he had no business trying to control her life.

He would have deserved it.

One of these days, he needed to apologize.

_You think you know what's good for my life. But you haven't been a part of my life in two years._

Her words had stung, deeply.

No, he hadn't been a part of her life. She had moved on, had left the state, had bought an actual house and become part of a community.

And he had...what? Been in limbo? He certainly hadn't gotten on with his life, not really. He drank tea, watered plants, wrote letters to Lisbon, clung to her like she was the only thing holding him fast to the earth.

That was true in more ways than one.

It had never crossed his mind that she hadn't been doing the same, hadn't been so deeply entrenched in the past that she couldn't see the future.

He had just assumed that she wanted to be back with him as much as he wanted to be with her. So he had included her in his terms of employment, had been shocked when she told him what was on her mind.

In the past twelve years, he'd known he'd hurt her.

But she had never _told_ him.

Oh, she'd come close when he'd surprised her in that church before the whole mess in Las Vegas had gone down, telling him that he'd betrayed her trust, that they were a family. It was all still cop speak.

On the plane, though, it had been about _her._

He was realizing how horrifically selfish he had been. He had no right to expect her unwavering devotion, had no right to expect her to drop everything for him, _again_. He had just never been forced to acknowledge that before.

He found he very much did not like knowing he'd hurt her.

The guilt rankled, his own pain coursing through his heart. What if she stuck to her word? What if she went back to Washington, despite her obvious boredom there?

What if she left him?

And then he remembered that he had left her, many times. Sometimes physically, sometimes emotionally, both with the same effect.

It was long past the time for some atonement.

Not just for his latest sin, either. If he had been keeping track, he could have come up with a very long list of regrets.

At the time he had committed his transgressions, he hadn't thought about their long-term consequences. They had been means to an end, things to worry about when Red John was dead and gone.

Well, they had arrived at that point.

He studied her profile from where he was sitting.

She was bent over something on her desk, carefully taking notes. She was determined to shine in her new position, determined to show everyone that she deserved to be where she was, that she wasn't simply there because he had demanded her.

Personally, he thought she was going one hell of a job. She had earned the respect of her peers quickly, even _Agent Fischer_, and once or twice Abbott had even complimented her skills. That was his Lisbon - exemplary cop turned exemplary FBI consultant.

She would have been running the CBI if he had never been in her life.

Of course, there was a whole host of issues with that statement, but the point was that he had been holding her back.

More sins, more wrongs to make right.

It was depressing to think of how thoroughly he had wrecked her life.

Deciding to stop brooding, he stood, stretching. Lisbon flicked her eyes at him once, then went back to whatever it was she was doing.

The break room here was well-proportioned and bright, but he missed the one at the CBI. Everything here was so industrialized.

The FBI had, however, acquiesced to his demands about tea. There was an entire cupboard full of his preferred brands and a shiny new electric kettle.

On his way back to the couch, he paused at Lisbon's desk to set down a fresh cup of coffee. She looked up, smiling.

"Thanks," she said, instinctively wrapping her fingers around the ceramic. "I was almost out."

He smiled back. "I know."

Their eyes held for a moment, and he felt compelled to speak. "I'm glad you decided to move here," he said quietly.

Her grin softened. "Me, too. Even if you're still a pain in the ass."

"You wouldn't know what to do with me if I wasn't," he teased.

She gave him a long, considering look. "Hm. Maybe you should try it and I could see."

His smirk became wry, and he plucked at the small, fake Christmas tree on the top of her desk. One of the chintzy bulbs fell off and cracked.

Lisbon swatted at his hand. "Hey! Now you're breaking my decorations!"

He snorted. "Decorations? This looks like you found it in a dumpster around 1989."

"Don't insult my tree," she warned, and he held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, wandering back to his familiar spot in the corner of the room.

He had a desk here, too, but he tried to avoid using it. If the FBI caught him doing actual work, it would no doubt damage his reputation. Like always, Lisbon tended to do the paperwork.

There was another uncomfortable twinge.

She really had been shouldering a lot of burdens for him, both then and now, her angry words about putting her life on hold for him notwithstanding.

It was as though even though everything had changed, _nothing_ had changed.

That wouldn't do. He'd had some romantic idea about their future together after he came back to the States. He was free now, free of the ghosts that had haunted him for so long, able to truly consider having a different sort of life. Lisbon was free, too, relieved of the being the boss, of being responsible for a team, and for him.

On the outside, it seemed like they were both in excellent positions to see where the underlying tension between them would lead.

He realized now that it was no good. He couldn't have a different relationship with him if he did nothing differently.

And there were a few things from their past he needed to fix before they could even talk about the present, let alone the future.

In the past few weeks, he had made a few subtle overtures towards her, flirted outrageously, found excuses to touch her. Though she hadn't resisted outright, had sometimes given back as good as she got, he had sensed something was off. She was holding herself back, keeping parts of her life away from him.

Thoughtful now, he crossed his legs, leaning back into the couch cushions.

He realized he had unconsciously started making a mental list of his more notable sins.

Item One: Leaving her on the beach before driving to Malibu. Yup, that was a biggie. He would never forget the joy in her eyes, the joy that he had undoubtedly crushed as he drove away.

Item Two: Leaving her for six months while he faked a breakdown in Las Vegas. He wasn't sure what she was more hurt about - his silence, his deception, or Lorelei.

Item Three: Running away in New York. Yes, he had every intention of coming back immediately, but she hadn't known that.

Item Four: Lying to her about forgetting what he said before he shot her.

Item Five: Leaving her for two years to deal with the consequences of his actions.

Item Six: Taking twelve years to be ready.

There were others, certainly, but those were the ones that kept him up at night, wondering what would have happened if he had made a different choice.

With a frown, he noted that most of his worst transgressions involved him walking out. No wonder she was gun-shy about letting him get close. In the back of her mind, she clearly thought that he could just pack up and go at any given time.

He needed to convince her that he was here to stay. Clearly, it was going to take more than just words. After all, he had lied to her before, many, many times.

"Want to get dinner later?" he asked abruptly, watching her tuck her hair behind her ears as she continued to commit another case file to memory.

She looked up, surprised. "Uh," she said. "I can't. I have plans."

It wasn't a lie, that much was obvious. He felt immediately unsettled.

And jealous.

"I'm going out for drinks with some people here," she told him. "You could come, too."

But he wasn't in the mood to be an afterthought.

"Meh," he replied, trying to keep his tone nonchalant. "Some other night."

He lapsed into silence again. In Sacramento, he wouldn't have had to deal with _friends_. His annoyance over the situation made him feel worse. So her entire world didn't revolve around him anymore. She was making a life for herself, trying to be happy, and he should be glad for her.

He supposed he was, but the thought of her doing all of this without him was unnerving.

At precisely 5:01, Kim Fischer appeared at Lisbon's desk. He had no idea what had happened between those two, but they had struck up some sort of friendship.

They had a great deal in common - both strong women, both used to being in charge in a male-dominated world, both married to their job.

He figured it was probably nice for both of them to have someone to relate to, even if he knew each of them were a little wary of the relationship the other had with him.

Kim desperately wanted to know if he'd ever slept with Lisbon. He figured Lisbon was wondering the same thing about Kim.

Maybe he should put them at ease by assuring them that the only woman he'd slept with in the past twelve years was Lorelei Martins. Of course, that reminder was very likely to upset Lisbon all over again, something he'd like to avoid.

"Goodnight, ladies," he said easily, his smile carefree.

He didn't stick around for long after they left. _Before,_ he would have rattled around CBI for a while, wandered into Lisbon's office, probably slept on her couch. But the bright fluorescent lights here were always on, even at night, and someone would probably stop him from going through Lisbon's desk like he used to do on a regular basis.

Another reminder that everything had changed.

Except for him, apparently.

Later, lying across the queen-sized bed in his bright new Airstream trailer, he wondered how he was going to proceed, for clearly, he needed to come up with a plan.

He wanted her. _All_ of her, all the time.

And despite how she tried to hide it, she wanted him, too. He just needed to convince her that he wasn't the same man he had been.

Well, that wasn't entirely true, he supposed. He still liked tea and causing trouble and being the smartest person in the room. He still read compulsively and little girls with curly blonde hair would always make him pause.

But he had let go of _so much_. The rage, the obsession...it was gone. Every terrible thing he had done in the name of catching Red John...he was able to see them all in a new light, able to truly regret all the pain he had caused.

He wasn't sure he could make it up to her, but he would try.

No more causing her sadness in the name of the greater good.

An idea sparked in his mind, and he smiled even as he drifted off.

He woke early the next morning. Even after all of this time, he wasn't able to completely shake the insomnia that sometimes held him in its grasp.

Today, however, it was beneficial to his plans.

After a quick stop, he headed to work, hoping he beat Lisbon here. He needn't have worried - the bullpen was mostly empty.

He waved at Cho as he passed the other man's desk, still glad most of his surrogate family from the CBI was here.

Cho didn't speak, just watched with mild interest as he replaced the hokey looking tree on Lisbon's desk with a new one. No broken ornaments here.

It was a first step, repairing some of the damage he had done.

Lisbon arrived a few minutes late, hair pulled back into a bun, looking a little bleary-eyed. Apparently she'd had a good time at girls night.

Distracted as she was, it took her a full half-hour to notice what he had done.

"Where's my tree?" she demanded, turning to him.

He smiled. "I felt bad for breaking it," he told her, "so I got you a new one." Of course, he felt no such thing, but he figured the symbolism wouldn't go amiss.

Her eyebrows furrowed. "But I liked my old one."

"I remember having a similar conversation when I bought you a couch," he said, "and look how much you wound up loving that. Trust me."

Although she looked unconvinced, she sat back down, shooting him another suspicious glance.

After lunch, he caught her adjusting some of the branches and he smiled into his teacup.

Well, that was one wrong he had fixed.

He could only hope the rest of his sins would be so easy to remedy.

**AN: Let us know what you think! Pretty please! MleeWrite is up next, so stay tuned!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I'm taking some liberties with the letter here, since we know that Jane first apologized to Lisbon for leaving her on the beach in the letter he had just sent when he was apprehended.**

**Also, if you're curious, Jane is reading the Inspector Gamache series by Louise Penny. If you want to read some really beautifully written, non-gory mysteries, I recommend them. They are outstanding. **

_Lisbon,_

_It's the rainy season here, which means fewer tourists but also lots of time spent inside. I'm running out of things to read in English. Luckily, I think my Spanish is improving substantially._

_Maybe I'm melancholy because of the rain, but I've been thinking about the day I left you on the beach. I never really apologized for that. I know it was low, even for me._

_I need you to know that I meant what I said right before I left. You have no idea what you've meant to me all these years. Hopefully all my letters to you prove that you still mean more to me that you know. Sometimes you're the only thing that keeps me sane._

XXX

Jane stayed up too late the next night, drinking endless pots of Earl Grey and planning. "Planning" resembled reclining on the couch in his airstream and flipping through a dog-eared paperback, but his mind was in two places at once.

First and foremost it was generating ideas for making Lisbon happy—for wooing her, really. The other half of his brain was following Inspector Gamache's efforts to solve a murder in rural Quebec.

Gamache seemed to be holding his own, so he set down the book and closed his eyes, focused on Lisbon. Roses would never do, she wasn't the type. And she'd turn up her nose at a fancy French restaurant. She might appreciate a date somewhere classy, but in her heart she was a bacon-cheeseburger kind of girl.

The truth was, he didn't exactly know what she did on her dates. He knew she had them, occasionally, and a few one-night stands. He knew about Mashburn, although he still wondered why Lisbon had been embarrassed, hiding in the bathroom when he'd shown up. He supposed her standing out in the open, broadcasting her sexual exploits might have been awkward.

He knew she'd go to dinner and the movies with her friends occasionally, but that was all so _banal_. He needed to do something big. Special. Like the pony. She'd loved the pony.

Opening to the last page of the book he reached for a pen and began jotting down wooing ideas. Not that he needed to write them down to remember, but he needed to see them in black and white to tell himself he was really going to do this.

He was going to make it up to Lisbon, and if his plans worked, he'd have a kiss by Christmas.

XXX

Jane strolled into the office two hours late the next day, having fallen asleep around three and not bothered with an alarm.

Lisbon wasn't at her desk, which concerned him, until he saw a paper cup of coffee sitting in the trashcan that had been emptied the previous night. The white plastic lid had her lipstick imprint on it—a nearly sheer nude tone she'd only recently started wearing. She was here; she just wasn't at her desk.

Abbott strolled out of his office, wearing the expression of a long-suffering man. "Mr. Jane, how kind of you to join us," he said dryly.

"You're very welcome," Jane replied politely. "I was going to get to some tea. Want anything?" A personality, perhaps?

Abbott ignored him. "Can you tell me why you're two hours late?"

"Uh, traffic," Jane replied blithely.

Abbott, clearly not amused, crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I find that hard to believe considering the fact that you currently live in a FBI appropriated Airstream Trailer in our parking lot. Which," he added, "I have asked you to move. Repeatedly."

"As soon as I find a trailer park with good feng shui," Jane assured him.

The truth was that he planned on leaving the trailer there as long as it irritated Abbott. He'd even bought a potted tree for his front "yard" and an Adirondack chair. He'd sit out there after work, sipping his tea and reading, waiting for Abbott to leave (one of the last, always) so he could cheerfully wave goodbye to him.

"Where's Lisbon?" Jane asked, changing the subject before Abbott could continue his reprimand.

"Working, like you're supposed to be," Abbott said. "I had a box of cold cases delivered to your desk this morning. You know, that article of furniture you're so invested in ignoring? I'd like you to go through them, see if anything catches your eye."

"Lisbon is supposed to be working with me," he replied, a little too quickly and a little too penchantly. "That was the deal."

Abbott raised an eyebrow. "Lisbon is currently training on our new computer system. Since you seem unaware of how to turn your laptop on, I assumed we were wasting our time in setting you up for training as well." His voice was laced with sarcasm. "Is that acceptable to you?"

Jane sniffed. "For now." Then he left Abbott to stew and went in search of Wylie.

The Coyote was sitting at his desk, hunched over a computer terminal, white cords leading up to his ears. Jane could hear the faint buzz of what sounded like death metal coming from them.

He stood in front of Wylie and mimicked speaking, opening and closing his mouth but making no sound.

The analyst pulled the earbuds out. "Huh?"

"I need you do me a favor," Jane replied.

"Okay," said Wylie, looking eager.

"Can you 'Google' something for me?" Jane asked.

Wylie's face fell. "Seriously man?" He sighed and opened a new page on his screen. "What do you need?"

Jane leaned forward and divulged the first part of his plan.

XXX

Lisbon re-appeared late in the day, wearing a pair of slim-fitting black slacks and a royal blue silk blouse. Her hair was down and curly. She had earrings in—little sapphire studs.

He was laying on the couch, and he set the folder he'd been flipping through on his lap, folding his arms behind his head so he could watch her.

She'd been dressing more femininely lately—although there'd never been mistaking Lisbon for anything but feminine. Now that she wasn't the boss, she seemed less invested in hiding behind leather jackets and blazers. The change was…delectable.

She caught him staring, but he didn't care. "Nice of you to show up today," she said dryly.

"I've been here slaving away all day," he replied. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

She rolled her eyes and wandered into the break room. In need of oolong himself, he got up and followed her.

Lisbon ignored the coffee pot and went to the fridge instead, pulling out a white cardboard box and opening it.

Jane wrinkled his nose. "What is that?" he asked, opening the tea cabinet (he'd added several brightly colored sticky notes to the door that said 'tea cabinet' in all capital letters).

"Late lunch, early dinner," she replied, opening the microwave door.

"Lisbon, is that… a Hot Pocket?" he asked, aghast.

She turned the microwave on. "Yeah?"

"That's _disgusting_," he said. He pushed past her, opened the microwave and tossed the half thawed thing in the trash.

"Jane! That was my lunch!" she yelled.

She normally favored spring green salads or chicken-salad sandwiches with slivered almonds and bits of apple. What had changed?

"I'm sorry, but as your friend I can't let you eat that," he replied. "It's not even food."

"Well, I'm still living out of a motel so I can't exactly make myself a nice bagged lunch to go," she replied sharply, hands on hips.

He felt a kick of guilt in his gut. The reason she was living out of a motel was because he dragged her here. He already had his shiny new Airstream, and she was sleepy on a lumpy mattress in discount motel. He'd uprooted her life. Again.

"You haven't found an apartment yet?" he asked, realizing he should have known sooner.

She shrugged. "I haven't had a lot of time to look. Besides, I need to figure out what to do with my house in Washington."

"You had a house?" he asked.

He remembered her beige, totally impersonal rented condo in Sacramento. She'd had unpacked boxes in the hallway years after moving in.

"Yeah," she said a little wistfully, "it was a nice place. Cozy. I had a fireplace and a yard. I thought about getting a dog."

The mention of getting a dog made him feel sad. She should have a dog.

He started to realize that she hadn't just found a place to live and a job, she'd really found a home, a legitimate one.

Maybe, if he'd never come back she'd had moved on, found someone to share that cozy home with. Maybe a barista, named Kevin, who knew how to make her lattes perfectly. Kevin probably had a beard and an excellent record collection and a great relationship with his parents.

Jane hated Kevin. Fucking Kevin.

"Well then, we need to find you a place," he said suddenly. He couldn't have her living out of a motel for the next year—not like he had done.

"I think I can manage on my own," she pointed out, looking at him like he was a little crazy.

"I don't doubt you can, my dear," he replied, "but I can tell you if the place has the right energy. And I owe you dinner." He looked down at the hot pocket, sitting on top of the trash, pale and sad.

"Energy? That sounds like fake psychic baloney," she replied. "But you do owe me dinner, that's for sure." She pointed at him. "And you're paying."

She thought he was cheap. He needed to fix that too. He really wasn't, he just didn't carry around a lot of money and it certainly didn't mean much to him. All the money in the world hadn't made him feel better…well, _after._

But she deserved the best place money could buy, so he was going to get it for her.

"Let's go," he said, gesturing to the door, one hand on the small of her back.

XXX

Teresa decided that Jane had somehow managed to get weirder during his island sojourn. He'd always been eccentric, but lately he seemed a little bit crazed. She'd caught him staring at her…_appreciatively_ on more than one occasion. That was nice, but a little weird. Also he'd been way too touched by the socks. He wore them every day. She suspected he washed them at night in his sink and left them to dry for the next morning. She hoped to God that's what he was doing.

Now he was insisting on buying her dinner and going apartment shopping, something that would have normally way too boring to interest him.

His current vehicle was a big F-150 hooked to his trailer, so they took her FBI issued car to the restaurant. It was situated in an outdoor shopping plaza, bustling with Christmas shoppers. The whole plaza was done up in brickwork and was strung with white and glittering holiday lights.

He directed her to a restaurant in the middle of the chaos, and since parking was abysmal, she opted for valet.

Jane opened the restaurant door for her and ushered her in with a hand on her back. He'd been touching her a lot lately too.

The place was filled to capacity, the loud sound of live music coming from the back of the dining room.

"We're never going to get a table!" she shouted over the din of conversation, clinking utensils, and, to her delight, soulful blues music.

"I made arrangements," he replied, talking at a normal volume but right next to her ear so she could hear him. His lips brushed against her skin and she tried not to shiver. His beard tickled and she scratched her ear when he pulled away.

Jane said something to the hostess, and she led them down a hallway and up a short flight of stairs. There were a handful of tables set up on a tiered level above the main dining room. She realized that the building was a converted theatre of some kind. The tables looked out to the main stage where a band was enthusiastically crooning the blues.

It was easier to hear up there. "How did you set this up on such short notice?" she asked, impressed.

"I, uh, called ahead earlier," he admitted. "I thought we would go out tonight. I would have confirmed the plans with you, but you were in training so I just took a chance."

She was strangely touched that he would have thought to take her out for music and dinner, and also that he would have considered checking the plans with her first.

It wasn't a fancy restaurant, but a music house, really, that specialized in barbeque, good beer and excellent music. It was everything she loved.

They ordered platters of gleaming ribs, cornbread, spicy slaw and French fries. She had a beer, cold and perfect, and Jane actually had a bottle himself before switching back to water.

They didn't speak for nearly the entire duration of the meal, her eyes were locked on the stage, her body unconsciously swaying to the music. She'd always loved the blues. Chicago had its fair share of great bands and venues, and it was probably the one interest she'd had in common with her father.

He'd called it 'equipment for living,' and she understood. Sometimes, when things were rough she wanted to wail out her sorrows with a great band backing her up.

She smiled wryly. More often than not she'd had the Patrick Jane Blues or the I Need to Apologize to a Congressman Now Blues.

The song they were playing now was about unrequited love, painful and exquisite.

"What are you thinking about?" Jane asked, taking her beer bottle and helping himself to a swig.

She pondered at the fact that he'd always been willing to steal her food, her drinks, as if sharing saliva with her held no aversion for him.

"Thinking about my dad," she admitted a little sadly. "And you, to be honest."

"Me?" he asked.

"I've got the Patrick Jane Blues," she teased.

Something like remorse crossed his face. "I'm not that bad, am I?"

"Not usually," she said. "But you've got your moments."

He reached out across the table and held her hand. She let him. He felt warm and nice. "I hope a lot less of them now," he admitted. "And I'm sorry for giving you a repertoire of sad songs to sing."

"They aren't all sad," she said. "Some of them are funny."

"I've got the Left On the Beach Blues," he said. "That one was sad."

She was surprised he brought it up. "Yeah, it was."

He'd really hurt her that time. _Really_.

She thought he'd finally opened up to her, admitting that he cared, that she was his best friend, just like she considered him hers.

"I meant what I said that day," he said slowly. "Before I left you there. It wasn't a lie. I just didn't want you involved. I wanted to spare your career and maybe your life."

"Well, that worked out great, on the career piece," she said dryly. Then more gently she said, "You should have trusted me."

He looked away from her to the band, his hand squeezing hers a little. "I spent two years realizing that. I'm sorry, Teresa."

His words surprised her, made her a little uncomfortable. They were shockingly sincere. "Okay," she said dumbly.

They stayed there for a long time, sharing beers, holding hands, neither of them quite willing to move.

When they finally left it was after ten, and Jane took the keys from her the minute they hit the cool air outside and the valet returned the car.

"I had less to drink than you," he said, helping her into the passenger seat.

She wasn't about to argue. She felt pleasantly buzzed.

She rested her head on the seatback and trusted Jane to get her back to her motel safely. As she drifted off she felt his hand take hers once more, holding it between their seats, and she didn't bother to pull away.

**Leave us a review and let us know how we're doing! The lovely Donna has the next chapter.**


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I shouldn't have picked going last! Look at the two incredible chapters I have to follow, from two of the most talented writers in fanfiction! I'm really honored and excited to be working with them. I hope I keep my end up here. Oh well; here goes… If you've read my other fics, you know that sometimes my attempts at humor turn into a bit of silliness. This chapter is no exception, although I like to think it could be possible! Now that you're suitably scared, I hope you're courageous enough to keep reading anyway.

**Chapter 3**

_Dear Lisbon,_

_I've been thinking a lot about Las Vegas lately. No, don't stop reading this-hear me out, and I promise never to mention it again. Despite the blatant hedonism of the city, it was one of the worst times of my life. There was no freedom like there is here. I couldn't be myself. I drank too much. I couldn't write or talk to you, and I missed you, every minute of every day. But you have to understand (or perhaps you already do) that I couldn't stop myself. I knew I was on to something, that I could flush out Red John, and I did. Looking back, it was the beginning of the end, and I don't regret what I did there, not even what I had to do with Lorelei. I do regret having to leave you without telling you the real reason why. A blanket apology six months later wasn't good enough; I know that now. Someday I'll try to make you see that if you suffered, believe me, my suffering was tenfold, because I had to let you believe I'd forgotten you…_

**Present day.**

The next morning, Jane met Lisbon once again in the break room. She was in a good mood, and she was even humming one of the songs they'd heard the night before. Her hair was down, soft and wavy like he liked it, and she was wearing a chocolate brown raglan sweater, straight-legged jeans, and ankle high boots with an actual heel. She looked young and fresh as a teenager, but womanly in every way that mattered. When she reached into an upper cupboard for a mug, those dangerous jeans stretched across her shapely bottom, and Jane's mouth went dry.

It was then that she noticed him, slack jawed and wide eyed. She looked startled at his expression, and he found the wherewithal to at least close his mouth. His grin was without shame.

"Morning, Lisbon."

"Hey."

"Nice time last night," he said conversationally, scrounging for his tea.

"Yes," she said softly, "it was."

"We should do it again sometime."

"Sure," she said, but her tone was a bit off. His smile faded and he turned from his task to look at her.

"What, you don't think I mean it?"

She shrugged. "Sure," she repeated, to his supreme annoyance. She smiled gently at him, but to Jane it seemed insultingly condescending. At his reaction, she sighed, furthering this impression.

"Look, I had a great time, really, but I've made an early New Year's resolution. I will take one day at a time, not count on anything staying the same, knowing that at any moment the rug could be pulled from beneath me and I'll be starting my life over once again. I won't let myself count on the fact that you'll be here tomorrow, or the next day, or certainly not the next…It's better for my mental health to look at life that way."

She was leaning against the counter now, holding her newly poured coffee with both hands as she looked at him. She didn't seem upset, just matter-of-fact, and he knew it was because she'd put a lot of thought into this decision. She might have even rehearsed this little speech in her head before. He recognized it as the continuation of their conversation on the plane that day.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said coldly. He seemed genuinely upset that she didn't believe him.

Her brows knit in concern. "You're hurt," she said, surprised. "This has more to do with me than with you, Jane. Don't take it personally. You are who you are, and I've accepted that, and I'm here, aren't I? But if I've learned one thing from the past two years, it's that I have to think about myself for a change. People leave. Things can change in a heartbeat, so never get too attached to life as you know it."

"That's why you don't have a dog," he said.

"Huh?"

"Nevermind. How can I convince you that I've changed? I'm finished running, Lisbon, I swear. This is my life now."

"For now," she corrected. "No offense, but I'm really not holding my breath."

She walked with her coffee back to her desk, moving her mouse to pull up the computer screen she'd been studying earlier.

When Jane found her, tea in hand, she was humming again, as if their heated conversation hadn't even happened, though there was an obvious new tension in her demeanor—obvious to him, anyway.

He leaned a hip on the edge of her desk, and she looked up at him askance.

"I'm not going anywhere," he repeated, putting as much sincerity into his voice and his eyes as he could muster.

For the first time that morning, her eyes flashed in irritation. She glanced around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. "Then why the hell did you ask for a motor home?" she hissed.

Aw.

"So that's what's bothering you."

"Could there be any other possible interpretation of such a contraption?"

"Nostalgia?" he ventured with a crooked grin.

"Oh, go drink your tea," she said dismissively.

She practically attacked her keyboard now, and he watched her for a moment as she gave him a convincing imitation of a cold shoulder. He removed himself from her desk and went to his new couch, settling there and sipping his tea thoughtfully.

Convincing her he had changed was going to be much more difficult than he'd initially thought. It would take more than a Christmas tree and a good dinner to show her he meant business. She was skeptical, his little Lisbon, and he supposed that was warranted where he was concerned. In his mind, he'd left in the past for highly legitimate reasons. He knew he had hurt her those times—she'd told him as much—but he was finished putting her last on his list. She'd actually been first this time. Didn't that count for something?

No, sadly for him, what she needed was concrete evidence of his intentions, more than the words on a paper napkin. She was a concrete kind of girl, a cop at heart as well as in deed. Talk was cheap (especially coming from him); she needed some sort of grand gesture that implied his personal sacrifice, his willingness to do something purely unselfish, even painful to prove his regard. Something for her alone.

Hmmm. This would take a bit of thought…

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

At lunchtime, Jane left, and he didn't return until three that afternoon. Fortunately they weren't working a case, so she didn't have to cover for him (again) with Abbot or Fischer. It did give her pause, however, not to see him in his usual place on the couch. Maybe she'd really pissed _him_ off for a change. He was probably pouting in the Airstream, like he once had in his attic, so she pushed any feelings of trepidation away, trying not to overreact every time he was unexplainably out of her sight. Back at the CBI, he had disappeared for hours at a time, sometimes even skipping a day without notice, and it wasn't anything to be concerned about. She had no idea what to expect from him in a scenario where he was angry with _her_.

She was relieved when he sauntered back in that afternoon, looking carefree and happy while shooting her a breezy, "Good afternoon, Lisbon."

She was instantly suspicious, but she knew he was hoping she'd ask where he'd been, maybe read him the riot act for taking such a late lunch. She stubbornly refused, merely greeting him with equal nonchalance and attempting to study the new daily FBI e-mail on ongoing cases and Most-Wanted List updates.

She did notice, out of the corner of her eye, that Jane had lowered himself rather gingerly onto the couch, a small hiss of pain escaping through his teeth. He settled in with a mystery novel and crossed his legs, grimaced, then shifted uncomfortably before crossing the other leg. Lisbon frowned. Had he injured himself somehow? Been struck by a car in the parking lot? Fallen down the stairs? Had Abbot finally had enough of his smart mouth and knocked the crap out of him? She smiled a little at the pleasure that thought brought her.

Finally, after she'd heard him uncharacteristically cussing under his breath, she craned her neck around her computer screen to glare at him.

"What the hell is wrong with _you_?" she asked accusingly.

"Nothing," he replied petulantly. "Well, not that you would care."

She rolled her eyes. He really was a child sometimes.

"Okay," she said with a shrug, and focused again on the report.

Not five seconds later, he was standing by her desk. "Come with me," he urged, "I was going to tell you later, but I find I can't wait."

"I'm sort of in the middle of something—"

"It'll be there when you get back. Trust me." Now that was a red flag.

When she didn't make a move to leave her desk, he reached down and gently grabbed her arm. "Come on. You know you're curious."

"Fine. But this had better not take long. Some of us work for a living."

He ignored her grumpiness and continued to hold her arm as he escorted her out of the bullpen and down the hall, smiling at those agents and worker bees he passed. He didn't even pause before the men's room, but pushed the door open and pulled her inside with him.

"Jane—what the hell?"

He let loose of her arm and checked under all the stalls before turning back to her. She stood there, dumbfounded, until he was satisfied they were alone. When his hands went to his belt, she stepped back toward the door.

"Wait, Lisbon. I need to show you something."

"There's nothing in your pants I want to see."

He paused and one golden eyebrow shot up in amusement. She blushed. "I'm leaving," she said.

"Hold up. It'll be worth your while, I promise."

All kinds of images of what men and women sometimes did together in small bathroom stalls suffused her mind, and she pushed them resolutely out of her mind. This was Jane and herself she was thinking about. He only engaged in hanky panky with sociopaths.

Before she could stop him, he'd pulled down his trousers, then his boxers until he revealed a white hip with a faded tan line, and a large white bandage, attached to his skin with medical tape. Her mother instinct kicked in, and she went to him in concern.

"What happened?"

Two short fingernails grasped the edge of the tape and he pulled it up, letting out a small yelp when it pulled his skin with it. He went to the other side of the bandage and repeated the process, yelp and all, until he could pull down the bandage and show her what he'd done.

She squinted at it at first, took an involuntary step closer, then her eyes widened and her hand went to her mouth.

"Is that what I think it is? Oh. My. God."

Apparently he'd gotten a tattoo, but for the life of her she couldn't figure out what it was supposed to be.

"Do you like it?"

"I—well—what the hell is it?"

"You're not turning your head right."

She cocked her head to the right, and the shape of the state of Texas came into sharp relief.

"Oh," she said in wonder. She looked up at him. "Why?"

Jane gave her a look of annoyance, then glanced down at his own hip, the tattoo glistening with ointment, the blackish-blue ink still red and angry around the edges.

"Don't you see the heart?"

She squatted down beside him to get a closer look, and sure enough she saw a small red heart where Austin should be, and near it, the name_, Lisbon_, written in beautifully flowing script.

"It is Texas. And Lisbon is the heart." He said it like he might have a mouthful of Shakespeare_: "It is the East, and Juliet is the sun."_

She looked up at him, the absurdity of this entire encounter suddenly hitting her. "You got a tattoo of Texas on your ass," she stated dully.

"My hip," he corrected. "You don't like it," he said, crestfallen.

"Well, it's not that. I mean, it's very lovely, and all—just_, why_?"

Naturally Wiley chose that moment to take a bathroom break. The young man paused in the doorway, taking in, in one quick, critical glance, Lisbon squatting down before Jane, whose trousers were undone, his hands on the waistband of his boxers. It didn't take an FBI analyst to determine what this looked like.

"I'll come back," he said, his face beet red. The door swung shut behind him.

Lisbon stood up, her hands covering her face. "Dammit, Jane!" she exclaimed, voice muffled.

Jane chuckled. "Well, that ought to get the gossip mill grinding."

"For the love of God, pull up your pants."

She went to the door, peaking out first to see if anyone was coming. She gave a little squeak when she saw Cho heading for the restroom, and she ran past Jane again to hide in a stall. Jane had just finished buckling his belt when the Ice Man cometh.

For show, Jane went to the sink to wash his hands.

"Hey, Cho."

"Hey."

"Been meaning to invite you out for a beer, but you've seemed pretty busy."

"Yeah," said Cho, heading for a urinal. Jane remembered he didn't like to talk while doing his business, so naturally Jane _always _spoke to him when they met this way.

"We could take Lisbon too. It'd be like old times."

Cho didn't comment, and inside the stall, Lisbon tried her best not to let her booted feet show, while ignoring the embarrassing bathroom sounds. She was going to take great pleasure in kicking Jane's tattooed ass later.

"So," continued Jane, reaching for a paper towel. "What do you think of Lisbon these days?"

A pause, then: "She's Lisbon."

"Well, yeah. I sort of miss those button-up shirts and the pantsuits, don't you?"

"I hadn't noticed."

"Aw, come on, Cho. You're a detective."

"I don't look at her that way. She's my—_was_ my boss."

"So, 'you are man; she is woman.'"

"She looks fine," he relented.

Cho refastened his slacks and joined Jane at the sinks. Jane admired how thoroughly and efficiently the man washed his hands, just like he did everything else.

"What are people around here saying about her?"

"They wonder how she put up with _you_ for ten years. I sort of wonder that too."

"Yeah," agreed Jane wryly. "I don't know how she did it."

"Well, don't screw things up for her this time," he warned, depositing his used paper towel in the trash.

"You going to the Bureau Christmas party tomorrow night?" Jane asked.

"Sure."

"I'll buy you a drink then. We'll catch up."

He merely nodded once.

"Hi, Lisbon," said Cho on his way out of the bathroom.

Lisbon emerged from the stall, remembering now how it felt to be absolutely livid with someone. She really hadn't missed that particular feeling. Jane was smiling at their situation, seemingly oblivious to her fury.

"I really hate you," she said simply. Jane didn't take the bait.

"So, what do you really think of my tattoo?" he asked instead. "Clever, eh?"

"Not exactly the word I'd use," she bit out.

She brushed past him to check the hall again, but ducked back inside as a group of agents walked past.

"Seriously, Jane. What was the point?"

"I wanted to show you my level of commitment to you. A man wouldn't tattoo the state of Texas on his hip if he didn't intend to stick around."

She pondered him a moment, still not getting it. "You didn't have to do that, Jane. Impulsive behavior like that only reinforces what I already know about you. You do things without thinking about how it affects others." She gestured to the bathroom meaningfully.

"This only affected me, Lisbon. I went through actual physical torment to prove my devotion."

"_Torment_?"

"Yes. It hurt worse than that time I got kicked in the groin by that senator's wife."

She grinned involuntarily at that happy memory.

"Well, I've heard of ancient Romans stabbing themselves in the thigh to prove their devotion. I figured this was the next best thing."

"What happens, though, when the next woman you sleep with sees another woman's name on your hip? What if she _knows_ me? Jesus, Jane, what will she think?"

Jane took a moment to absorb every aspect of her rhetorical questions, and decided not to take them rhetorically. He stepped closer to her, his eyes going dark with an emotion that had Lisbon's heart pounding.

"I don't plan to sleep with anyone else," he said, leaving her to interpret all kinds of possible meanings behind that statement.

She cleared her throat and looked away from the sudden intensity in his eyes.

"Look, the gesture was…flattering, I suppose. But if you want me to believe you're not going anywhere, here's what you need to do: _not _go anywhere. It's as simple as that. Oh, and maybe not make things too difficult for me here; that would be nice too."

He grinned. "You drive a hard bargain. You should have been the one negotiating my contract with Abbot."

She went to the door again, relieved to find that the hallway was empty. He followed her out, striding beside her back toward the bullpen.

"I don't believe you," she said, shaking her head at him. "What if this job takes us to another state?"

He winced. "I hope it's somewhere simple and square, like Wyoming, or North Dakota. Gerrymandering is a bitch."

"So you're willing to get the entire country tattooed on your ass? For me?" she said, smiling a little as the enormity of his gesture finally sank in.

"Whatever it takes, Lisbon."

"Next time," she suggested wryly, "get me a freakin' plant."

**A/N: So, that's my contribution. Please drop me a review to let me know what you think. And please, be kind ;) . Starry is up next! Thanks for reading.**


	4. Chapter 4

**AN:** Oh, my God, how am I ever supposed to keep up with Mlee and Donna? They've set the bar entirely too high, and I'm afraid that this isn't nearly as good as it needs to be to fit in!

Regardless, here it is!

**My Blue Christmas**

**Chapter Four**

_Dear Lisbon,_

_I have a lot of time to think here, and to remember. We've been through a lot, haven't we? The understatement that ate Sacramento, I know, but I've taken to sitting on the beach during the day, reliving some of our greatest hits. It's ridiculous, the things I've remembered._

_But as you know, I never forget anything. Even things that should be forgotten._

**XxXxXxX**

She was still in a little bit of shock about the tattoo.

Seriously, did the man have no shame? Or sense? Or _something_?

And then Wylie clearly thought they were sneaking out to bump uglies in the men's room. And Cho...

Life at the FBI was strange and complicated, mainly because Jane had chosen to make it that way.

She wasn't sure what game he was playing now. There were times when she thought they were teetering on the edge of a steep cliff and she couldn't decide if she wanted to ease back to stable ground or to grab his hand and jump.

In some of her more whimsical moments, she decided she liked the idea of her name (though not so much the state of Texas) being permanently etched on his skin. That he was now irrevocably marked on the outside in the same way that she had been marked on the inside.

Of course, she reminded herself grimly, not wanting to get her hopes up (again), they had things like laser tattoo removal.

Nothing was forever, not anymore.

She was flopped gracelessly on the bed in her hotel room, laptop opened in front of her. It was time she found somewhere to actually live, though she had to admit she would miss housekeeping services. How Jane had done this for a decade was beyond her. Then again, most things Patrick Jane did were beyond her.

Housing prices were higher here than they had been in Washington, and she was starting to give up on the idea of finding an actual house. It was too bad, she mused. After living in a basic, impersonal condo for so long, she would have thought she'd be able to make the switch back with no trouble. That was not proving to be the case.

She flagged a potential place. It was a town home, nothing spectacular, but it had some nice features, including a fireplace, something she definitely wanted after having one in Washington.

Maybe she could check it out in her non-existent time off.

Her phone beeped. Expecting work, she reached for it.

Instead, it was Jane.

_I don't supposed you'd be interested in putting lotion on Texas, would you?_

She stared. Just what she didn't need - a mental image of Jane smearing himself up with moisturizer. Or worse, Jane being smeared up with lotion by _her_.

Damn him anyway.

_I'm sure you can find someone to lend you a hand. Just be your usual charming self._

Annoyed with the direction of her thoughts, she turned her attention back to her house search, intent on finding something that had a bathroom that had been updated since 1995.

She was taking a virtual tour of a condo when her phone went off again.

_I don't want anyone else_, he'd typed. _I meant what I said_.

She stared sullenly at the screen. Typical Jane, just deciding suddenly that they were going to have a different sort of relationship and expecting her to simply fall into place beside him. This was _her life_, and she thought she'd made that clear to him.

_Well, that'd be a first_, she wrote back, then angrily tossed her phone aside.

Unable to concentrate on her task, she shut the laptop with a little more force than was necessary. What was wrong with her? She would be lying if she said she hadn't thought about being...involved...with Jane. Thought about it a lot. All the time, actually, when she wasn't busy fantasizing about, say, ways to kill him and make it look like an accident.

So what was her problem now?

Maybe because she felt like they had been here before. Not here, exactly, but somewhere close. The months before he had disappeared to Vegas had been a definite highlight in their relationship. There were times she could have sworn he was ready to make the leap, times when he didn't even bother to hide it.

Of course, he had summarily disappeared for six months, but he had made a valiant (and strange) attempt to make it up to her, to convince her that he would never do so again.

She sighed. Would never what? Vanish? Or tell her he loved her and then pretend to forget about it?

They had still never talked about it.

Picking up her phone, she glared at its dark screen. There had been no reply from Jane. That was probably better. She was in the mood to pick a fight with him, and in her anger, she might say some things that she'd regret. It didn't matter if they happened to be true or not.

Grumbling to herself, she got up, starting to dig around one of her suitcases for pajamas.

There was a knock on her door.

Instantly alert, she cautiously peered out of the peephole. An annoyed looking Patrick Jane was in the hall.

Surprised, she unchained the door, then pulled it open.

"What the hell did that mean, _that'd be a first?_" He pushed past her into the room without waiting for permission.

He was disheveled, like he'd just left the trailer without putting any thought into his appearance.

Her guard went up again. It would be wise to tread carefully here. "Just what it said," she said, following him with her eyes.

He crossed his arms, leaning his hips against the heater under the window. "Tell me precisely what you were getting at."

His demeanor was irritating. "What, like you don't know? It's hardly a secret that you've made a career out of lying to people."

"I don't lie to you," he protested.

She snorted with something that approached genuine amusement. "Sure you don't." She shook her head. "Jane, you lie to me all the time, about everything."

He opened his eyes wider. "Not about things that matter."

The sheer obstinacy of that statement made her temper snap. "Right. What about promising to let me be there when you revealed Red John? Or that you weren't going to look for Lorelei anymore without telling me? Or pretending that you've forgotten...something just because you don't want to have to deal with the implications of it?"

At the last second, she had managed to keep her words vague. Emotionally, she wasn't ready to have it out with him over that. Not yet, anyway.

There was a tense silence, and the annoyed look on Jane's face slipped away. Instead, he looked...sad? Ashamed? "Fair enough," he finally said. "I suppose I can't deny any of it, and yes, despite your vaguely worded sentence, I know what you're talking about."

She swallowed. For the first time, he was admitting that he knew what he'd told her.

Jane took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," he said, very quietly. "You deserved better than that."

"You're damn right I did," she said, but her righteous anger was fading. It was hard to stay upset with him when he looked like a kicked puppy. Then again, he probably practiced that face in the mirror.

They looked at each other without speaking for a moment.

"Teresa," he said, "I remember what I said."

"I know you do," she whispered.

His shoulders slumped. "I don't suppose you'll forgive me if I tell you it was just the wrong time?" He sounded vaguely hopeful, but she shook her head.

"Maybe if you would have told me _that_ instead of just playing dumb in the first place, it would've been enough, but now..." She trailed off, honestly wondering if she really wanted to have this conversation.

He nodded. "It _was_ the wrong time, though," and she figured it was true. "I'd been gone for six months, we were right on the verge of catching Red John, and I'd just slept with Lorelei."

Spelled out like that, it was almost comical how _wrong_ his timing had actually been.

"All I was going to do was hurt you more," he murmured. "Deniability was the only thing I could think of to maybe make all of this less painful. I know it didn't work, not really, but I had to try." He took another deep breath, then met her eyes. "I didn't mean to say it. I would have given almost anything to have been able to take it back. Not because it wasn't true, but because I didn't want you to think I could love you and still hurt you that badly."

Robbed of her ability to speak, she blinked, realizing she had tears in her eyes.

There was no denying that she had been bitterly wounded by him after his return. She had thought he was in love with Lorelei - would that have been better or worse if he had never said those words to her? Better, probably, because she wouldn't have been dealing with the idea that he loved Lorelei_ more_ than he loved her.

"I'm sorry," he said again. He gave her a self-deprecating smile. "I'm not sure how to make it up to you, either."

_Not because it wasn't true..._

Belatedly, she realized he was admitting he loved her. Or, her brain added depressingly, admitting that he had loved her.

However, given everything they had talked about already, tonight was not the time to ask for clarification.

"Okay," she whispered.

"Okay?" he echoed. "That's it?"

"I just wanted to know," she continued. "I deserved an explanation."

"Yes, you did," he agreed, voice just as soft. "And I'm sorry it took three years for you to get one."

She swiped absently at a tear. Unexpectedly, Jane stepped forward and pulled her against his chest.

"Good Lord, woman," he said. "I came over to fight with you, not to make you cry."

A choked laugh bubbled up in her throat, her arms going around his waist. "The best laid plans..." she began, and Jane chucked lightly, the sound vibrating in his chest. She closed her eyes, leaning heavily against him.

"So what were you doing before I decided to ruin your night?" he asked.

She pulled back, hands falling to her sides. "I, uh, was looking for a place to live," she admitted. "It's harder than I expected."

"Any leads?"

"A few," she said, thinking about her options. "I'm going to call about them tomorrow."

He nodded thoughtfully. "I hope you find what you're looking for. Everyone needs a home."

Her smile was wry. "I had one," she said, "until you insisted on dragging me down here."

"Home is where the heart is," he quoted blithely, and she suddenly remembered his tattoo again.

"I suppose you're right," she replied quietly. And he was, in more ways than one.

He met her eyes again, and his gaze was deep, meaningful.

She realized he was going to kiss her about two seconds before he actually did. Just enough time to make the decision to not pull back, to let her lashes flutter shut in heady anticipation.

The first brush of his lips made her shiver, and Jane's arms came around her again. He kept the pressure of his mouth light, teasing.

And he was utterly surprised when she pushed him back against the wall, rising on her toes so that they were on the same level. His hands fell to her hips as she kissed him, deeply this time, her fingers wound into the fabric of his shirt.

They had done things on his terms for so long that it was absurdly liberating to be the one in charge. At the same time, she wondered if this was a mistake, crossing this line. Then he hauled her body up against his, and she didn't care.

His lips slid to the corner of her mouth, her jaw, her neck, and the absolute want that washed over her made her tremble.

Gradually, Jane slowed their pace, kisses become softer and shorter until they were simply leaning against each other, chests rising and falling rapidly.

"Well," he finally whispered. "I think I should pick fights with you more often."

Her laugh was a little hysterical. What had they just done?

Jane could read her uncertainty, she was sure. "It's okay," he said, smiling now. "Besides, if I have your name inked on my body somewhere, I think a little kissing isn't out of order."

She snorted, and he pulled away, still smirking.

At the door, he paused, turning back to face her. She was disappointed that he was leaving, but rationally knew they were far from ready for much more than a few heated kisses.

Unexpectedly, he took her face in his hands.

"Teresa," he said, voice melodic. "The next time you hear me say those words, I promise there isn't going to be any question in your mind about how I feel."

He stole a quick kiss, taking advantage of her stunned expression, and then he was gone. Numbly, she chained the door behind him, sitting on edge of her bed and staring at nothing.

It wasn't until she wandered into the bathroom to take a shower that she realized she was grinning from ear to ear.

She didn't sleep much that night, but it was more than worth it.

Jane beat her to work the next morning. This was unsurprising, as he was currently living in the parking lot of the building. She wondered if he was going to get a Segway or a motorized scooter to drive the fifty feet to the door one of these days. She wouldn't put it past him.

There was a mug of coffee on her desk, the steam still rising from it.

"Thanks," she said, hanging her jacket on the back of her desk chair and not quite meeting his eyes.

He waved a dismissive hand, sitting on the couch a few feet away, looking quite pleased with the world.

Arrogant ass.

But his crowing glory came later in the day when she was rummaging through her desk looking for post-it notes. Someone (she strongly suspected Jane) had taken most of hers.

As she pulled the top drawer open, she spotted something unusual. It looked like...greenery? She pushed the various office supplies off of it, then lifted it out for closer inspection.

It was mistletoe.

Instinctively, she turned to look at Jane, who was doing his best impression of someone who was merely observing the situation. She knew better.

"What the hell is this?" she hissed, keeping her voice low.

He smiled. "A time honored holiday tradition," he replied, clearly amused.

She dropped it back into the drawer in irritation. "You're an idiot."

He shrugged. "You told me to buy you, and I quote, 'a freaking plant.' Well, here you go."

There was little to say to such an extraordinarily stupid pronouncement, so she settled for rolling her eyes, then turned back to her work.

Suddenly, his voice was in her ear and she jumped. "Fair warning," he whispered, "I take certain traditions very seriously. In fact, I might be tempted to show you _just_ how seriously."

He sauntered off in the direction of the break room, and she swallowed audibly.

And even though the situation was uncertain and still a little painful, she couldn't help but hope that Jane gave into temptation.

At least when no one was looking.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Mlee here. Since Donna and Starry are doing such a great job with the story part of this fic, I'm just going to leave the plot to them and skip on down to sexytimes land. This chapter is rated M, yo.**

_Lisbon,_

_When I think back on our time at the CBI, the thing I most regret is not appreciating the time I had with you then._

XXX

Whatever impulses Lisbon might have had to try out the mistletoe were kept at bay by an extraordinarily busy, but tedious, day spent consulting with the Kansas City office on a blackmail case. They didn't even get to travel—the entire operation was conducted via 'teleconference,' a system Jane found useless for reading people.

All they had were a few fleeting looks in the break room—hers a little embarrassed, his enthralled.

He was clearly off his game in solving the case—partially due to the fact that he found Lisbon's lips incredibly distracting and partially because he couldn't be expected to figure anything out via web-chat, could he? He mostly hid on his couch. In the end they didn't really need him anyway. Cho cracked the case.

That left them time to disperse and get ready for the FBI's annual Christmas party. Jane suspected that Abbott would prefer he not go, which of course was why he was going. That and he got to see Lisbon in a dress—a rare treat indeed.

He would have gone for the opportunity to see Lisbon in a burlap sack. Now that the air had been cleared regarding his ill-timed and quickly retracted 'I love you,' and now that he'd kissed her, he found that she was all he thought about it.

He'd relived that kiss a thousand times in his head, carried it on to consummation in his imagination. He'd never felt so…taken with a woman before. He suspected he and Lisbon could lock themselves away for a week and it wouldn't be enough time alone, to explore, to get to know each other intimately.

It wasn't even so much a yearning for sexual fulfillment as it was a desire to see the final parts of her that had been denied to him. Lisbon had been his best friend, his closest companion for years. He felt that they had already established a certain intimacy with all the time spent together. He'd certainly fallen in love with her, slowly and deeply, over the years.

The physical side of her…those were just the last secrets that she kept, and he was desperate for knowledge of them.

Of course, he wasn't going to push her. She'd kissed him. Up against a wall. Forcefully. That didn't meant they were going to spend the night together anytime soon. He'd let her set the pace.

Lisbon walked by him, hiking her purse up on her shoulder. He was sitting on his couch, sipping tea, considering this new aspect of their relationship.

"Are you coming tonight?" she asked (a little hopefully, he thought).

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," he replied. "I was hoping to catch Abbott under the mistletoe."

She rolled her eyes, but he saw her blush, just a little, at the mention of mistletoe. She was wearing a green blouse today. He thought she looked stunning.

"Well, do you want a ride?" she asked.

He shook his head. "I have some errands to run first. I'll meet you there."

She shrugged. Her eyes had seemed a little brighter today, her cheeks a little pinker. "Well, okay. Don't be late."

"I won't be."

He leaned back into the cushions so he could watch her leave, admiring the view.

XXX

The FBI Austin Branch held their Christmas party at a mid-scale banquet hall downtown. The food was mediocre at best (chewy beef or overcooked fish), but the drinks were free. The place was flooded with agents and their plus ones, talking too loud and getting pleasantly drunk. The hall was festooned with red and green crepe paper, Christmas lights wrapped around every available object.

It was tacky and horrible and he had to sit next to Wylie, but he didn't care. Teresa had shown up wearing a cranberry red wrap-dress, tied at her hip, and black high heels. She'd even painted her fingernails, a deep red that looked black in the half-light.

He shouldn't have been surprised. He remembered the CBI fundraiser when she'd worn that low cut black dress that had men chasing after her. She was a stunning woman.

They were seated apart at dinner, and Jane half listened to Wylie yammer on about something called an MMO. Much to his surprise 'the Coyote' had a very attractive girlfriend who showed up in ripped tights with a streak of her hair dyed pink. She didn't say much during the meal, just stared insolently at 'the man' surrounding her.

Once the dishes were cleared and the tables moved, Jane got up and was off like a shot, headed for Lisbon's side. Wylie might have been in the middle of a sentence. He didn't care.

"I see you dressed up," she remarked dryly.

He'd thought about wearing a tie, but didn't have one so he came in his usual clothes.

"I didn't want anyone thinking I was on my best behavior," he replied, snagging them each a glass of cheap champagne from a passing server.

"I hope not," she muttered slyly, and he nearly choked on his sip of sparkling wine. In a normal tone of voice she said, "I'm surprised that you didn't move seats and make a fuss about not being at my table."

"I thought about it," he replied, slipping his free hand into his pocket to remove the temptation to place it possessively on her back. "But I figured it would make a scene and irritate you. I'm trying to make things easier for you at work, like you asked."

"Hmm," she said, and sipped her drink. "So, how's Texas?"

He grinned. "Itching a little, to be honest."

"Good. I hope it's as irritating as you are sometimes," she teased. "Please tell me that you took the time to explain to Wylie that we weren't meeting in the bathroom for some hanky panky while you were sitting next to him. I'd really hate to be known as the office slut."

"No one thinks that of you," he assured her. "And Wylie was so embarrassed he's never going to mention it. He spent the entire dinner telling me about his virtual life. Who's he going to tell? His virtual friends?"

"I guess." She frowned and glanced around the room, taking in the other agents and their family members, congregated at the bar or in clusters, chatting. Fischer stood off to one side, holding a drink and looking awkward.

He realized that Kim was a wallflower, socially uncomfortable although she hid it well. He almost felt sorry for her. Almost.

"Agent Fischer already thinks we're sleeping together," Lisbon said quietly.

"Really?" he asked.

"She asked if we were ever involved. I think she thinks that's how I controlled you," she said, a hint of anger in her voice. "Apparently, I was leading you around by your…ego."

He grinned and rocked back on his heels. "I don't know, I kind of like the idea of Mistress Lisbon, keeping me in line."

She rolled her eyes at him, smiling but not entirely amused.

"So what did you tell her?" he asked.

She shrugged. "That it was a strange question, and none of her business, really."

He grinned a little wider. "But you didn't deny it."

"No," she looked at him cautiously. "Why?"

"I just think it makes it easier for them to think we're already involved. Then they can't file any complaints about inappropriate conduct between agents—they assumed we were being inappropriate when they hired us."

"We're not agents," she pointed out. "And who says there's going to be inappropriate conduct anyway?"

He almost said something about how she nearly climbed him like a tree against her motel room wall, but he checked himself and said, "I'm an optimist."

Around them the lighting dimmed, then took on a blue hue as a DJ began playing 'Please Come Home For Christmas.' People either began edging toward the bar or began to slow dance, paring off quietly. Jane took her champagne flute and set it on a nearby table.

He held out his hand, "May I?"

She bit her lip. "I don't want to start any rumors, Jane. I need them to take me seriously."

"I'm just asking for a dance," he pointed out. "I'm not going to start grinding against you on the dance floor."

She sighed and took his hand, letting him lead her farther onto the floor. His right hand settled comfortably on her waist, his left holding hers. They'd danced this way before—actually holding each other closer then because no one had known them. Still, it felt wonderful to have her in his arms. He resisted the urge to rest his cheek against the silk of her hair and draw her body closer to his.

Instead he studied her face, her down swept lashes, her lips—painted the palest red. She was a remarkably sexy woman.

He'd spent so long not looking at Lisbon that way, deliberately avoiding it, that now it was impossible to look anywhere else. He was beguiled by the shadowed vee at the edge of her neckline, just the barest glimpse of cleavage. He tried not to wonder what she was wearing under that dress, tried not to think about how easy it would be to undo the knot at her hip and unwrap her like a Christmas gift.

"You're staring," she whispered, her voice husky.

"Can't help it," he said quietly. He could smell her perfume, cinnamon top notes floating off her skin.

"You never stared before," she said.

"You just never caught me," he pointed out.

He hadn't outright ogled her, but he'd certainly taken an appreciative glance or two at Agent Lisbon.

Now she was there, in his arms, and his hand squeezed reflexively on her waist, his palm sweating a little. She was drifting closer to him, the heat of her body searing him through his clothes. He wished they were alone so he could kiss her.

"People are going to notice," she said, a little nervous. "We're practically…" She swallowed.

He didn't look away from her. "Abbott is dancing the same way with his wife."

"She's his _wife._"

He took a breath. He was pushing her. "Do you want to get out of here?" he asked.

"Then people will really think we're fooling around," she replied dryly.

"Meh. Let them think. I have a Christmas present for you," he said, pulling back, ever so slightly.

"Is this one in your pants too?" she asked sarcastically.

"Do you want it to be?" he teased.

The song ended and they drifted apart. He tugged on her hand. "C'mon. I caught a ride with Cho, so we have to take your car."

She sighed. "Where are we going?"

"I'll give you directions."

XXX

Part of Teresa wanted to go back to her hotel and hide. They'd gone from one kiss to mentally undressing each other on the dance floor in twenty-four hours. She didn't have anything against a little casual sex now and then, but she didn't think anything with Jane would ever be casual. The way he looked at her…his eyes had been dark and hungry, and it had sent a thrill through her belly. He'd _wanted_ her.

She was almost afraid to find out what he'd do once he had her.

She was grateful for the cool air outside and the distance between them as she drove, following his verbal directions.

They left the city center and entered a residential community not far from the office.

"Where are we going, Jane?" she asked, for the tenth time.

"Patience, Lisbon, you'll see," he told her.

She turned into a cul-de-sac and parked as he directed.

He got out of the car and came around, opening her door for her. Then he led her up the driveway of an unlit townhouse, pausing at the front door to pull a key out of his pocket. In the darkness, it took her a minute to realize it was one of the units she'd looked at online but discarded as being too expensive.

"What is this?" she asked as he opened the door and ushered her in.

"Welcome home," he announced.

She stood in the dark, empty living room for a moment, her brain refusing to process anything. Jane turned on the lights and she blinked in the bare, white room. "You got me a …house?"

"Townhouse," he amended, handing her the key.

"Jane, you can't…you can't buy me a house." She was stunned.

It was simultaneously the sweetest and most presumptuous thing he'd ever done.

"Why not?" he asked, closing the door against the chilly night. He put his hand on her back, leading her to the stairs. "Do you want a tour?"

She allowed herself to be shepherded. "Because it's too expensive, Jane. I saw the list price on this unit and…"

He shook his head. "I've got money, Teresa. I've had it socked away and invested since…well, before. I find it doesn't bring me a lot of happiness."

She climbed the stairs, flicking on lights as she went. There were two bedrooms upstairs, the master unit featuring a walk-in-closet and recessed wall for a dresser and television. The second bedroom could be converted into a home office, but it was the master bathroom that was really what had appealed to her.

She walked in, her heels clicking on the floor.

The bathroom was large, with a shower in one corner and a sunken, whirlpool tub next to it. The walls were painted cocoa brown and the tub, shower and vanity were a rich, cream colored marble. Above the bath was a skylight, moonlight filtering down into the room.

When she'd seen the photo she had imagined long, relaxing baths with red wine and vanilla scented candles and cherry blossom bubble bath.

"Jane," she said. "I can't take this."

He looked offended. "Why not?"

"Because…" She swallowed. "I'd owe you. I'd be living in your house."

"Well, legally it's your house," he pointed out, placing his hands on her upper arms. "And I already owe you. For everything. For saving me."

Her throat felt thick and tight. "For like, twelve years of you being a pain in the ass," she confirmed.

"I think that warrants a house," he teased, squeezing her arms. "Do you like it?"

"How did you even know?" she asked, grinning.

"I snooped on your internet history," he replied. "Did I mention the unit is dog-friendly? And no pesky association fees."

She beamed. "Thank you Jane." And she rose up on her tip-toes and kissed him.

XXX

It was the kiss that started it. It was a sweet 'thank you' kiss that quickly evolved into something that promised a much more thorough show of gratitude.

His hands skimmed her waist, then down to the soft curve of her behind, pulling her tightly against him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, angling her head to kiss him more deeply. They couldn't get any closer and not be making love.

When they finally came apart for air, Teresa bit her lip mischievously and said, "I've got a present for you too."

"Oh?" He felt like his heart was going to burst out his chest.

She stepped back, then carefully undid the knot at her hip. He swallowed thickly, his pulse hammering. She pulled the dress opening then let it slide down her arms and onto the floor.

She was wearing a black bra and panties and high heels and nothing else.

"That's a really good present," he said a little weakly, his eyes drinking her in.

He immediately thought about the bathtub but they didn't have towels, so instead he took her hand and scooped up her dress, leading her to the master bedroom. He laid the dress on the floor, and his jacket alongside it, making a makeshift blanket and then pulled her down next to him.

Without any encouragement she linked her arms around his neck and pulled him down for a long, sweet kiss. He traced his hands from her hips, up her sides, stopping just below her breasts. Her skin was soft and warm.

Why had he waited twelve years for this? he wondered vaguely. He was an idiot. She tasted like champagne and strawberries and her leg was traveling up his thigh…_Jesus._

He moved his mouth to the curve of her neck and she sighed in pleasure, her hands moving to unbutton his shirt.

When bare skin met bare skin he shivered. "Lisbon?" he murmured, moving down to kiss the soft swell of her breast. His hands worked behind her back, unhooking her bra.

"Hmm?" she asked, arching into his mouth.

"Do you really want to do this now?" he asked.

He pulled the taught peak of one breast into his mouth, unable to resist temptation.

She shifted restlessly beneath him. "Really?" she moaned. "You're really asking me that now?"

He shifted, kissing along her ribs now. "I don't want to rush you," he muttered.

She mumbled something, but it was lost as she struggled to reach between them, to undo his belt. Her fingers slid inside his slacks and brushed Texas. He swallowed a hiss of pain.

She had her hands on his belt buckle, then with astonishing speed, had it open. She was unzipping him when he said, "I also haven't done this in a really long time."

She stopped, but didn't move her hands. She arched a dark eyebrow. "I hear it's like riding a bike."

"I'm not talking mechanics," he replied dryly. He shifted so they were face to face, his lips near hers, his arms braced on either side of her head. "I haven't made love to anyone in a really long time."

She raised one hand to his head, stroking her fingers through his hair. "Me either," she replied softly. "But I think we'll figure it out."

He kissed her nose. "I also didn't plan on this and don't carry a condom in my wallet anymore."

"I'm on the pill," she said. "And I'm clean. I'm assuming you…"

"I used a condom with Lorelei," he said, hating that those ugly words had to invade their private moment. He was still ashamed of that.

"Then we're fine," she said softly. Her eyes were large and dark, looking up at him love and infinite patience.

He suspected that if he'd asked to just cuddle, she'd have done it without any complaint, holding him to her breast.

Screw cuddling, though. He had twelve years of celibacy to make up for.

He kissed every inch of her, memorizing each plane and curve. His hands were restless, wandering, exploring. He found every little ticklish spot, every freckle and beauty mark. He didn't stop until her back was arched and her head was thrown back and she was sobbing his name. When she came back to herself she dragged nails through his hair, urging him to rise up and kiss her on the mouth again, so he did.

Her panties were long since gone, and she pushed at the waistband of his boxers. Her hands were trembling and he helped her.

"Do you want me to say hello to Texas?" she whispered impishly, stroking him.

"No," he murmured against her lips. "The first time…" he sucked in a breath when she squeezed, "…in you."

It was remarkable how easily they came together, how effortlessly they moved in tandem. There was no awkwardness, no fumbling or adjusting position. There was just pleasure and inarticulate sounds echoing in the empty room.

He pressed his forehead to hers, his eyes closed, muscles straining. When he felt her release, hips rolling restlessly beneath his, he let himself let go, his motions frantic and seeking. He whispered her name against her lips when he came.

For a long time they lay there on their wrinkled clothes, his head tucked into the crook of her shoulder, his weight heavy on hers.

Sleepily he said, "I'm really sorry I waited twelve years for that."

"S'okay." She stroked his back.

He grinned against her skin. "No. I'm _really_ sorry."

**And now I leave it up to Donna to decide who gets to pay for dry cleaning his jacket. Please review, guys! We love it!**


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Okay, so my last chapter was a bit silly, but you were warned. Thanks again to those who read and reviewed. My co-writers inspired me to explore my romantic, fluffier side in this one. I hope you enjoy it!

**Chapter 6**

There was one letter Jane wrote to Lisbon, but had never sent. It had been the result of too much tequila about a month after he'd left Red John dead in the park. Occasional bouts of depression had been common that first year on the island, most of them centered on all he had given up in pursuit of the killer, the years of his life he had sacrificed, the happiness he had postponed so long that it had slipped through his grasp. The fact that even though Red John was dead, he was still a childless widower. He had succeeded in his quest, but at what price? A month in exile, and he had only just begun to calculate it.

And so the letter.

When he'd found the missive on his desk the next morning, the handwriting shaky, the paper stained with drops of liquor and probably more than a few tears, he had been heartily thankful he hadn't sent it. Not that it wasn't the truth, but _because_ he had meant every word of it, every line torn from his soul and put out there into a universe where he had rarely allowed himself to even think these things, let alone form them into words. He'd carried the letter in the pocket of his slacks (he hadn't yet gone all native) for a week before fear and shame had made him stuff it into that now empty bottle of tequila and toss it into the waves.

The hopeless romantic in him liked to thing that eventually it had drifted half a world away, landing on California's shore, where by chance Lisbon had found it and now held the secrets of his heart in her delicate hands. He'd regretted it the next day. He should have sent it through the slightly more reliable mail service anyway, to hell with the consequences. He would probably never see Lisbon again, so she had the right to know how he truly felt, didn't she?

But then he'd triple-guessed himself and had never rewritten it, realizing his true feelings would be too much of a burden upon her, especially if, as he'd suspected, she felt the same way he did. Not to mention the fact that he'd already made that mistake once before. Somehow, he didn't think his confession would be a comfort to her now either, and she would just think him an even bigger coward than she probably already did, spilling his guts when nothing could come of it.

So he had never actually mailed it.

But he still remembered every line.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They'd slept perhaps an hour before the discomfort of the floor made Jane shift restlessly, waking a very grumpy Sleeping Beauty. Warm and naked beside him, she made a vague sound of annoyance, and he smiled, holding her closer beneath the red dress they were using as a blanket.

"Sorry, but while I have the heart of a twenty-five-year-old, my back lives stubbornly in the present. Would it be terribly unromantic if we spent the rest of the evening in your motel room? You know, on that nice soft mattress with all the pillows?"

"I understand. Old and creaky. Gotcha." He felt her smirk against his skin.

"Aw, Lisbon, if you expected me to be goaded into proving just how capable I am, despite my advanced years, you will be greatly disappointed."

Her hand moved to his crotch, and she gave him an affectionate squeeze. "I haven't been disappointed yet," she said, craning up to find his mouth. "And I've got the rug burn to prove it."

He'd be lying if he didn't feel pretty damn proud of himself, going two full rounds and all, and at his age. It was all he could do not to beat his breast like a satisfied gorilla. He knew his limits, however—something else that came with age. But, on the other hand—specifically _Lisbon's_ other hand—

When her head disappeared beneath the makeshift blanket, Jane realized that perhaps forty-six wasn't quite as old as he'd thought.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The weekend stretched before them like a gift, and they decided that Saturday would be spent mostly in her motel bed, with Sunday reserved for a trip to IKEA; Lisbon had a townhouse to furnish.

They had fallen into her bed at around three in the morning, both of them half laughing, half groaning from their earlier exertions on the hard floor. The shower beckoned, but they were too exhausted, so they settled for a hasty wash up in the bathroom sink, a cursory brushing of teeth (Jane's, a loaner from the front desk) before stripping once more and meeting in the middle of the bed. They kissed lazily, the surreal nature of where they were and what they'd been doing for most of the night wrapping around them like a cocoon.

"This is crazy," Lisbon couldn't help saying.

"On the contrary, it's the sanest thing I've done in some time."

He felt her smile in the darkness. "I suppose that's true. I guess I should be grateful."

Her hand moved to rest just above Texas, and he smiled back.

"So, what can I expect of you by way of similar proof of your loyalty? I'm thinking…my name…somewhere around…here."

His fingers had come to rest high up on one soft inner thigh. She trembled, her entire body overly sensitized to his every touch.

"_Jane was here_?" she suggested dryly. "I'd rather stab myself in the thigh."

"Of course not," he said, kissing her lightly once more. "The least you could do is call me Patrick now."

"Patrick," she repeated experimentally. "That will take some getting used to."

"But won't it seem confusing to your future lovers, them seeing the name _Jane, _on so intimate a location?"

"It's unlike you to fish for reassurance, _Patrick_," she hedged, trying to sound as nonchalant as she could. She was certain, however, that he'd felt the jump in her heartbeat.

"I have no reason to expect you to stay with me forever, Teresa," he replied, suddenly completely serious. "Not after everything I've done, and the stupid things I'm destined to do in the future."

"Then you're a bigger idiot than I thought," she whispered, her tiredness and her recent emotional and physical releases bringing her dangerously close to tears.

She took a shaky breath. "I'm in love with you, Patrick, but you already know that. I think I've proven it time and time again, forgiving you after everything you've done, and will again for all those stupid things you're destined to do in the future."

He covered her mouth with his, tasting on her tongue the hint of tears, the love, the banked passion. So this is what Teresa tasted like. His own pulse accelerated, the words he'd longed to say tightening his throat. But he owed her this, owed them both the complete truth. He released her lips, wishing he could see her eyes in the darkness, but he couldn't let the opportunity slip by again, didn't want to see the hurt there in the light of day if he said nothing now. His hands came up to gently frame her face.

"I love you too, Teresa," he said. "And I won't be taking it back."

"If you ever do," she said, the tears flowing freely now. "you'll have a permanent tattoo of my boot up your ass."

"Deal," he said with an adoring smile, and they held each other until sleep and peace finally overcame them.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When next Jane awoke, it was late morning, the blackout curtains of the motel room effectively masking that fact from them. Lisbon was still in his arms, her deep breathing indicating she would likely sleep for sometime more. He reveled in the bliss of having her next to him, inhaled the faint scent of her perfume mixing with the intoxicating fragrance of a sleeping, sated Lisbon. He couldn't believe how much better this was than anything his imagination had ever created in his mind.

He thought of the letter he'd never sent, his own words flooding back to him. He wondered again if anyone had ever found his message in the bottle. He grinned to think a child had picked it up while beachcombing on a family holiday, excitedly giving it to his scandalized parents in the vain hope it had been a map to pirates' treasure. He hoped that if anyoneever _had_ read it, they would have appreciated how much the unnamed author had loved the woman, Teresa, had felt the torment in every line, the longing, the loneliness. Perhaps they'd even wished him well.

Jane gently kissed Lisbon's temple, then disentangled himself from her arms and slipped out of bed. She stirred only a little in protest, but he was glad she didn't awaken. She needed her rest, he thought, his body reacting a bit to the plans he had for her later.

He found his underwear and slacks on the floor and quietly pulled them on, padding barefoot out of the bedroom into the small living area. He closed the door behind him. He went to the desk and flipped on the light. Inside the drawer he found some motel stationary, and with a disposable pen, dated the letter as he had more than two years before: July 10, 2013.

Xxxxxxxxxx

_Dear Teresa,_

_Of all my regrets of the last ten years, the greatest is this: I never got to know how your lips tasted. I have imagined the sweetness of strawberries, or perhaps the richness of vanilla, but I'm sure those things would not do them justice. Night and day it torments me. And just when I think I can't bear it another second, I allow myself to ponder what else I've missed. _

_How would you have looked, how would you have felt, your body beneath mine? Do you have freckles everywhere as you do on your perfect nose? I would spend hours counting them, mapping them, kissing them. I have held your hand in mine, held your body in fleeting embraces and in brief dances, but I am certain that those beautiful moments would be nothing compared to the wonder of burying myself inside your warmth. Every day. Forever._

_I'm a fool for wanting this. A fool for writing this. Part of me wants to forget you, to try to find a way to get on with my life, to forget these impossible dreams. But I can't do it, Teresa. Believe me, I have tried._

_It is just one more thing I hope you will find in your heart to forgive me for._

_P._

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The bed was cold, and Lisbon, unused to sleeping naked, pulled the covers more tightly around her. The smell of Jane wrapped around her and she opened her eyes, memories of the night before suffusing her. She felt hungover, though she'd barely had anything to drink at the party. Drunk on love, she supposed with a secret smile.

"Jane," she called. She stilled to listen, thinking perhaps that he was in the shower, or maybe was awake in the other room reading the crime novel she'd dog-eared and left by the couch. But she knew he was gone, and her heart contracted painfully.

She got up to find that his clothes no longer littered the floor near hers. In the bathroom she found his toothbrush newly damp, the shower head still dripping. He hadn't even awakened her to say goodbye. It was a familiar feeling of loss that was probably way out of proportion to the likelihood he had just run back to his trailer for a change of clothes. The man had a map of Texas on his ass; he would find his way back. But she wondered if she would ever get over that involuntary reaction.

It was then that she saw the cream-colored envelope propped up by the coffee maker in the tiny kitchenette. She held it in her hands, fear gripping her anew. What would she find inside? Regret? Another blanket apology? She took a deep breath, made herself open it. At first she was confused by the date, but as she read through the heartfelt words, she realized that these had been his thoughts while in exile.

She wiped at her eyes as she read through it twice more, wondering at its significance. There was no post script, no explanation of why he had written this now. She would have to be patient, she supposed. That too was a familiar feeling where Jane was concerned.

Xxxxxxxxxxx

She'd just emerged from the shower when she heard the door to her motel room opening. Either it was the maid, or Jane had likely taken her key, since they'd put the _Do Not Disturb_ sign on the doorknob the night before. She wrapped the fluffy white towel around herself and came out into the living area. Jane's smile was as big as Texas, and in one hand he carried a takeout bag from a local Italian place, an overnight bag in the other. The food smelled heavenly, and Lisbon realized she was starving.

Jane's eyes roamed her body, appearing rather hungry himself. He set the bags down and went to her, kissing her like he'd been gone a year.

"Good afternoon," he said, his lips on her damp neck.

"You brought food."

"Aw, those three little words a man always loves to hear."

She grinned. "How about 'foreplay is overrated,'" she suggested.

"No cover charge?" he countered.

"Drinks on me?"

"Here's the remote?"

"Mother's not coming."

"The game's on!"

"Size _doesn't_ matter."

They laughed together at their own cleverness, and he kissed her on her smiling mouth. He was reaching for the knot of her towel when she stayed his hand.

"What's with the letter, Jane?" she asked tentatively.

He led her back into the bedroom, and they sat together on the unmade bed.

"That was a letter I wrote to you that I've been carrying around in my head, waiting for the right time to deliver it."

He told her the whole story, about the tequila, the bottle, his internal battle.

"You should have mailed it to me," she told him. He was genuinely surprised.

"Wouldn't it have hurt you?"

She smiled. "Yes, like a thousand daggers to my heart. But I would have given anything to know how you really felt about me, what you were thinking. I would have read and reread that thing until it was ragged," she admitted, imagining it. "It never would have made it into the box with the rest of them. It was beautiful, Jane."

He leaned over and kissed her sweetly, marveling that this was something he could do now.

"You kept my letters?" he said, though it wasn't really a surprise. Had she been able to write to him, he would have done the same. What a comfort it would have been, to have had something of her to get him through those dark days.

"Well, you know how the mail system is," he joked. "I've heard of letters delivered twenty years late."

"Thank God you didn't wait that long," she said, her hand going to the softness of his bearded cheek. He rubbed against her like a cat.

"When I saw you again after two long years, I knew that this," he said, moving her hand so he could kiss her palm, "was inevitable."

She laced her fingers through his. "Not to mention how hand-delivery must have been a huge savings on postage," she teased.

His grin split his face as recalled the spunky ladies at what had passed for a post office on the island.

"You don't know the half of it."

They kissed for a few moments, their movements becoming more frantic and heated, especially when she no longer wore a towel.

"I love you," she said, sighing at the brush of his beard on her belly.

"I have to say, Lisbon, those are still the best three words I know…"

**A/N: All together now: Awwww! Yes, a little mushy, I know, but it's Christmas for God's sake! Lighten up! So, now the round robin begins again, with starry's turn next. I hope you liked my contribution. Please log in and let me know what you think.**

**P.S.: A special thanks to justlook and the other Mentalistas on Twitter for helping me with some of those three word phrases above. You guys rock! **


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: **Starry speaking here! I just can't get over the response to this story! It's overwhelming and humbling. I'm so glad you think that our three writing styles mesh well – it was something I was a bit worried about, but I think it's worked out nicely.

This is my last chapter for this story, and I want to thank everyone again for their support and encouragement. It's been a blast working with Mlee and Donna, and hopefully we can do this again soon. All three of us our on Twitter, too, so if you're looking for new fic updates and the like, you should maybe check us out. ;)

Alright, enough self-promotion. On to the story!

**Blue Christmas**

**Chapter Seven**

_Dear Lisbon, _

_The police presence here is laughable, at least in this village. I'm not sure what they would make of you – shiny gun, bullet proof vest, yelling at a perp to put their hands up. You'd probably be seen as some avenging angel, or wind up being canonized. Of course, that's nothing new for you, Saint Teresa. _

_Stop rolling your eyes. _

_I mean that. You're definitely some sort of saint. You'd have to be to put up with me for so long. _

**XxXxXxXxX**

He had considered getting rid of the beard now that he was back in the country, apparently for good, and apparently a free man. However, given Lisbon's reaction to his facial hair, he thought perhaps he could keep it. In fact, if she continued to be so…enthusiastic…about it, it might become permanent.

According to her, it tickled. And not just her face.

His smile turned rather wicked as he remembered her reactions. Yes, the beard was definitely going to stay.

She was curled up to his side, one leg thrown over both of his, chest rising and falling steadily as she slept on. The luminous numbers on the alarm clock told him it was a little after seven in the morning – far too early to be up, considering the sort of exertions he'd been engaging in for the past forty eight hours or so.

Good Lord.

Had it really only been that long? After just a few days of being with Lisbon properly, he was wondering how the hell he had made it almost a decade and a half without doing this.

It wasn't just sex, either, though that was certainly a highlight.

If he wanted to steal a kiss, or lay with his head on her chest, or hold her hand as they walked, he could now. It didn't have to be some wistful fantasy anymore.

It was going to take some getting used to, but he was looking forward to the process.

Lisbon stretched against him, slowly waking up, and he watched with a smile as the sheet was pulled tautly across her lithe body.

Her lashes fluttered, then slowly opened, sleepy green eyes taking a second to focus on his.

"Morning," she murmured with a small yawn.

"Hi," he replied brightly. "Sleep well?"

She stretched upwards for a very light kiss. "Like a log. Apparently I was pretty worn out." She waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

He pretended to look shocked. "Why, Agent Lisbon. I assumed you'd be in better shape than that. The FBI must have low fitness standards."

Lisbon made a face, then slapped his chest with an audible smack. "Don't you dare talk to me about being fit, Patrick Jane. I certainly wasn't the one begging for a reprieve in the middle of the night."

He scoffed, then abruptly rolled her half beneath his body. "Begging, my dear? I hardly think so. I would, however, be very interested in finding out what it takes to make _you_ beg."

Her eyes darkened, a look he was coming to know well. "Hm." Her grin was the most seductive thing he'd ever seen. "Do you think you're up to it, old man?"

He leaned down, lips millimeters from hers. "Why don't you tell me?"

Several hours later (and several hours later than he had planned), they were strolling through the nearest Ikea, looking at potential selections for Lisbon's new furniture. He noted that she tended to favor light, neutral colors, and, for about the thousandth time, congratulated himself on buying the white couch for her office at the CBI.

He kept throwing out suggestions, but she shot down a lot of them, saying that she was going to have her stuff shipped down from Washington.

"Isn't that going to be ridiculously expensive?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Less expensive than refurnishing an entire house. I'll still need some more stuff, though. Your outrageous Christmas gift is a bit bigger than my last place."

He smirked. "I never do things halfway."

"God, don't I know it," she muttered, mostly to herself.

He did manage to talk her into buying a king-sized bed. "I have plans for you, woman," he told her in a low voice. "And they require lots of room."

Her cheeks colored, and she avoided his eyes.

After their expedition was complete, they checked back into the hotel room. Since Jane's trailer was still in the FBI parking lot, she flatly refused to stay there, and his back started to hurt just thinking about an air mattress in the town house.

Since he couldn't resist making love with her one more time, they ended their day (again) in a tangle of bare limbs and rumpled sheets. This time, however, it was around nine at night, and they both drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

The next day was bright and cold. Well, cold for Texas. Lisbon beat him out the door, giving him a quick kiss as she pulled her jacket on.

It was certainly something he could get used to.

There was an enormous pile of paperwork on her desk when he finally arrived. Since the FBI was bigger than the CBI, it tended to take a bit longer for reports and such to make it to their destinations. From what he could see, Lisbon was currently filling out forms related to the last case they had worked on in the field.

He might have pulled one or two little stunts that someone could possibly term "shenanigans."

That was probably where all those triplicate forms came from.

Someone had to fill them out, and Abbott and Fischer were supervising agents, so it was certainly not going to be them. Jane personally hadn't done paperwork in about fifteen years, so the burden fell to Lisbon, like always.

He felt a twinge of guilt, very similar to the twinge that had led him to making his list of regrets. Wasn't 'leaving Lisbon to deal with his messes' on there somewhere? At the time, he had been referring to after he killed McAllister, but it applied here just as well.

Perhaps more, since he rarely murdered people, but oftentimes generated large amounts of incident reports.

With a reluctant sigh, he heaved himself up from his couch, scooped up an armload of paper, and sat at his very rarely used desk. He could feel Lisbon's eyes on him, but he ignored it.

There were pens in his desk drawer. That was a little bit of a surprise.

Uncapping one with a flourish, he pulled the nearest sheet of paper towards him and began to read.

Then he paused.

He had no idea what any of this meant. What was the case number? The date of the incident? And then they wanted him to describe the circumstances and details of said incident?

No wonder Lisbon was always doing this crap. It was ridiculous. And _tedious._

He seriously considered just throwing it all away, but that would just give them more trouble. Sighing deeply, he re-read the form, hesitantly filling it in with what he thought was the correct information.

The first page took him a half hour. He was shocked when he looked at the clock. At the rate he was going, he would be here until next Tuesday.

When he looked up again, Lisbon was standing by the side of his desk, looking concerned. "What the hell are you doing?"

He smirked. "Paperwork. You know, that stuff you've been after me to do for literal years?"

She frowned as she examined what he had done so far. "Yes, but I never thought you were actually going to _do _any of it."

"What? I'm just trying to help you out. And, as much as I hate to admit it, I apparently owe you a great deal for taking care of this mess until now." He made a face.

"It's not so bad after a while," she chuckled. "I actually developed sort of a formula for filling out Patrick Jane Paperwork." The way she said it told him that yes, Paperwork was capitalized. "I use a lot of vague terms. It's better that way. Besides, the idea of you actually writing official reports was scary enough to make me lose sleep."

She had a point there, since he had already been tempted to just write down some complete nonsense involving a cross-dressing terrorist and a dog that could play piano. No one probably even read this stuff, just checked to see if all the boxes were checked.

But, no, that would be the case here, he suddenly thought, looking across the bullpen to where Abbott and Fischer's offices were. Big Brother was definitely watching in Austin, waiting for them both to falter.

Perhaps not Fischer as much these days, since she and Lisbon had developed a bit of a friendship, but definitely Abbott. He was still fuming that Jane had managed to get the FBI to agree to all of his terms, bring one of the country's most powerful organizations to its proverbial knees.

"I promise to behave myself," he said. "Now, let me get back to work or I'm never going to be able to leave."

Lisbon just rolled her eyes as she went back to her own desk.

For the first time in anyone's memory, Jane spent most of the day actually doing, as they called it, "real police work." He didn't like it. It was boring. And when he put them down on paper, it made some of his more brilliant schemes sound like the work of a cheeky fifteen year old.

By the time five o'clock rolled around, he was almost ready to throw himself out of the nearest window.

But the entire damn pile of paperwork was completed, signed and dated at the bottom, and he handed them to Lisbon with something approaching triumph.

He did, however, take a moment to consider altering (some) of his behaviors as to create less forms in the future. If he was being honest with himself, that was probably unlikely, so he supposed he would just have to get used to dealing with the papery consequences.

Lisbon eyed the stack of files with surprise. "I have to say I'm impressed, Jane. I'm a little afraid of what these all say, but I'm impressed nonetheless."

"Get your coat," he said, "we have plans." He flexed his fingers. He thought a few of them were still numb.

She raised her eyebrows but did as he asked. Normally, he knew she would have demanded to know his plans in detail before agreeing, but she had made the conscious decisions just to go with it, and it softened his annoyance about how his day had gone.

When he'd gotten up that day, he'd had some idea about making Lisbon blush as often as he could, or even convincing her to make-out with him in the elevator. And instead of those worth-while pursuits, what had he done? He nearly shuddered in disgust.

They stopped off by the trailer so he could grab a few things before heading out. It had been a few days since he had been here. Lisbon looked around, considering.

"You need Christmas lights on this thing," she noted. "It would really add to the redneck theme you're going with."

"Hmm," he murmured thoughtfully. "You might be onto something there. They'd need to be shaped like cowboy boots or chili peppers or the state of Texas though."

Lisbon raised an eyebrow. "Don't you have enough things in the shape of Texas already?"

"That's impossible," he told her, ushering her out the door again. "Just ask any of the locals."

He got into the driver's seat of her car, and she paused. "Mind telling me what we're doing?"

"Yes, I do mind," he said flatly. "Get in."

She knew by the tone of his voice that she wasn't getting any more answers from him, so she simply got in the car. He was fairly sure she rolled her eyes when he wasn't looking, however.

He drove silently, reaching across the center console to take her hand at the first stoplight. She smiled to herself, looking out the window at the passing cars.

After about twenty minutes, he turned off the main road, heading out into the country. Lisbon looked concerned, but said nothing. _I trust you, you idiot_, was the implicit message.

"Close your eyes," he said eventually, and she did.

He drove another few miles, then turned into a small parking lot. "Okay," he told her. "We're here. You can look now."

It took her a moment to figure out where he'd taken her. Then, "A Christmas tree farm? Are you kidding? What the hell are we doing here?"

It was his turn to roll his eyes. "Getting a Christmas tree. What do you _think_ people do here?"

"Seriously?" she demanded. "_Why_?"

He shrugged, trying to look innocent. "Because it's Christmas, obviously." Then he sighed. "And because you love Christmas and I've been a pain in your ass for twelve years and because this is our first Christmas together."

As far as explanations went, it was a little rambling, but he figured she understood what he was trying to say.

She blinked once, and he thought there might have been tears in her eyes. "Okay, then."

Everything he'd said was true. She did love Christmas, years of Catholic school cementing its place in her mind and heart. He had definitely been a pain in her ass, and this _was_ their first Christmas. He wasn't sure how they all went together, exactly, or why he had put them in that order, but that wasn't important.

It turned out to be a surprisingly enjoyable time, despite the fact that he really didn't know how to cut down a tree. Angela had wanted an artificial one, and, honestly, he hadn't particularly cared. Lisbon, he knew, would insist on the real thing. Hell, it was probably one of her family traditions.

Tying the tree to the top of the vehicle turned out to be another matter entirely, and he was forced to admit that he hadn't planned this very well. They got it done eventually, and he took off in the direction of the nearest super center, insisting that she get lights and ornaments.

"Um, Jane?" she asked as he tossed a package of shiny glass bulbs into their cart. "Where exactly is this whole thing going to go? I'm pretty sure my hotel frowns on live trees, and I seriously doubt it can fit in the Airstream."

"Your new house, obviously." He shook his head, then smiled in sheer delight when he found an ornament shaped like a teacup. It might as well have read "Patrick Jane was here." All he needed now was an ornament that looked like a gun and he and Lisbon would both be represented on the tree. He didn't think there were very many firearm baubles though, and wound up settling for a figurine of a police officer.

It got the message across, though he was still a little miffed he never got to see Lisbon in her Chief of Police uniform. Perhaps there was a costume shop somewhere close…

Lisbon grabbed two bottles of wine as they headed for the checkout.

They forgot to buy glasses.

All in all, it wound up being one of his favorite nights he could recall. They drank cheap wine out of the bottle, arranging and rearranging strings of lights and brightly colored ornaments. When they were finished, both more than a little drunk, they stepped back to admire their handiwork.

"'S perfect," Lisbon said, nodding.

"I agree," he told her. "See? I have good ideas."

She snorted. "Whatever you say."

He raised one eyebrow dangerously. "Careful, woman. You'll bruise my ego."

"I'm pretty sure that's shatterproof," she said. "Your arrogance is made of steel."

And speaking of things that were hard…

He slipped his arms around her, taking her mostly empty bottle of wine and setting it on the floor. She looked up at him playfully, fingers toying with the curls at the nape of his neck.

"You know," he said conversationally, "I'm almost positive there's some sort of rule about making love in front of a lit Christmas tree. Like, I think we're required to."

She laughed, and it was a low, throaty sound. "And since when do you follow the rules?" She rose up on her tiptoes, body flush with his.

His hands settled heavily on her hips. "I'm turning over a new leaf," he murmured, lips against her neck. "You should be proud. Besides," he went on, her hands starting to pull his shirt buttons out of their plackets, "I'd always follow the rules if they were like this."

He kissed her fully, pushing her coat off of her shoulders.

Later, thoroughly sated and staring up at the glowing lights of the tree, Lisbon draped over him like a too-short blanket, he thought he was going to have to start seeing a chiropractor. His joints were going to be a mess in the morning. Or whenever they got off this floor.

It was worth it.

"I love you," she whispered, hand on his heart.

He kissed the top of her head, arms tightening. "I love you, too."

Yes.

Definitely worth it.

**AN: MleeWrite is on deck, so stay tuned for whatever deliciousness she cooks up! **


	8. Chapter 8

_Dear Lisbon,_

_I saw a little girl today. She reminded me of Charlotte. I think it was the curly hair._

_Do you remember when I drank the Belladonna and saw my daughter? Of course you do. I know that girl wasn't really my daughter—and she wasn't her spirit no matter what you might believe—but my subconscious mind hallucinating._

_I never told you, but my Charlotte really liked you. She admired your spunk and how you didn't cave in to my bullshit._

_I guess that's my subconscious mind telling me that I was lucky to have you. I don't think I ever told you how much I admired you. You're an extraordinary woman, Lisbon. I was lucky to work with you for as long as I did._

_Being apart from you makes me even more grateful for your friendship._

_Yours,_

_Jane_

XXX

The following morning, Jane's back insisted he pay for express shipping and assembly of that king-sized bed. And a memory-foam mattress.

Lisbon just smirked and made a remark about him being creaky.

The FBI offices had more or less cleared out for the holiday, and Abbott told them there was no reason to return until after the New Year. If there was a case, he'd call.

Lisbon seemed to assume that their boss was being kind, but Jane knew that Abbott was just avoiding paying anyone holiday overtime. Meh.

It gave them the time they needed to shop for a few more things. They bought linens—Egyptian cotton sheets and soft, plush towels—a coffee maker for her, and a teakettle for him. They stocked up on paper plates and plastic cups until her kitchen supplies could be moved from Washington. He did buy a cobalt blue tea cup and matching coffee mug, though.

They bought a new television and installed it in her bedroom, since there was no couch in her living room. She was having the couch he bought sent from her other home. The couch he bought her, he reflected happily. He'd had some great naps on that couch.

Without really intending to, Jane sort of moved into the town house with her. He certainly wasn't going to sleep without her now.

They didn't mesh quite perfectly.

Lisbon's brain shut down around nine o'clock, and she was sound asleep by ten. Unless he was exhausted, Jane rarely went to bed before one. His 'puttering around the house at all hours' led to the purchase of a leather armchair and reading lamp for the living room so he could amuse himself and leave her in peace.

Of course she was up at some ridiculous hour, to go jogging of all things. It took him one morning to disabuse her of the notion that he'd be joining her. They bought black-out curtains and she kept herself busy while he slept.

They met the neighbors. The adjoining townhouse belonged to a Mrs. Sherridan, an active senior who was delighted to have a federal agent living next door.

"Well, that just makes me feel so safe," she gushed before plying them with Christmas cookies.

She invited them to church, and Lisbon said something polite before he could even open his mouth.

She also let Lisbon know that she was a dog lover, and would be happy to dog sit if Lisbon felt the urge to get a canine friend. Jane thought about them living together with a friendly mutt who stayed next door when they were traveling. He found he liked the idea.

He thought about naming the dog Rigsby.

Lisbon bought them tickets to fly to Washington after Christmas, so they could pack up her belongings and arrange everything for the moving company. He made jokes about letting her do all the hard work while he waited in Texas, but secretly he was delighted to help her relocate. It meant she was coming home with him.

It meant she was his.

XXX

On Christmas Eve Teresa wandered around the Barton Creek Square mall, searching for a gift for Jane. Everything was closing early, limiting her shopping choices.

It should have been easy to buy him something, but she found it wasn't. As she window shopped, something very like panic started to bubble in her chest.

Jane needed about a million things—more socks, new shoes (God, he needed new shoes), clothing in general, not to mention books and tea and all the other assorted things he'd left behind in South America. He could use new underwear, and now she knew what kind he wore. She was still marveling at that.

The problem was, those weren't presents that you got your lover of a few days. Those were presents that you got your husband.

And she wasn't his wife.

Not that she wanted to be, just yet. Her panic was stemming from the fact that she was pretty sure she wanted to be Mrs. Jane someday (which was terrifying all by itself), and she wasn't sure that it was a possibility.

She stopped outside a Banana Republic, looking at the displays of shirts and vacillating about going inside.

Something had been bothering her, niggling away at the back of her brain, making her a little crazy.

Jane still hadn't taken off his ring.

He'd told her that he loved her, but he still wore his wedding band.

It bothered her and she felt bad that it bothered her.

Before, she'd assumed that Jane had kept the wedding band on as a reminder of what had happened to his wife as much as to honor her. It was the symbol of his commitment to catching Red John. When he'd come back from Venezuela, she'd half expected it to be gone.

When they started making love she expected him to quietly tuck it away somewhere.

When he'd told her that he loved her, she'd expected him to remove it.

It was just a ring, she told herself, walking through crowds of last minute shoppers. It didn't necessarily mean anything. It was just that she could _feel _ it when he was inside of her, his fingers twined through hers. She'd feel the warm metal on her hand and think she was betraying Angela somehow.

She'd see him playing with it too, absentmindedly spinning it around on his finger. He hadn't forgotten to take it off. He knew it was there.

It _really _bothered her, and she was overcome with guilt that it did. How did you tell a man that it was time to get rid of the token of marriage to his late wife? How did she ask him to move on with her now, all the way? She would be selfish and callous no matter how she asked, but she couldn't have him in this halfway, either.

She didn't expect him to ever stop loving Angela or Charlotte. She knew they'd be an important part of his life, and she hoped that somehow, in the next life, there was a way for all of them to be happy together. She just wanted to know that for right now, for the rest of _this_ life, Jane would belong to her.

If he wore a wedding band again, she wanted it to be hers.

She realized that she'd stopped in front of a jewelry store. The clerk came over, beaming, looking for a sale. She just shook her head sadly.

Now she understood. Jane could get a tattoo of anywhere he wanted. He could follow her to ends of the earth. He could buy her a house and move in without being asked. But even if he never left her side, it didn't mean he was with her, not all the way.

And she wasn't willing to settle for less.

XXX

Jane took her to dinner that night, to an expensive Italian restaurant. He strongly hinted that she should wear the red dress again, so she did.

They had pan-fried mozzarella, Caesar salads and excellent saltimbocca. He ordered an expensive bottle of pinot noir, that truthfully, was nowhere near as good as the ten dollar moscato, she thought.

"What's bothering you?" he asked, after they'd ordered tiramisu, affogato and tea.

"Nothing," she lied, worrying at the edge of the napkin in her lap.

"You know I can tell when you're lying," he pointed out, sipping the last of his wine.

"It's just our first holiday together," she said. "Everything is new. And it's happening so fast."

"We've had twelve years to get ready for it," he pointed out. "Do you want to slow down?"

He looked almost panicked when he asked that, and her heart cracked a little.

"I could go back to the Airstream," he said, and she could tell that he really, really didn't want to.

"No," she told him. "I like having you with me."

He reached out and took her hand, holding it on the table between them. "Good," he said. "I really like being here."

His ring was hard against her skin.

XXX

The ended the night in the bathtub, and Jane could tell that as much as she was enjoying a long soak in cranberry-scented bubble bath, something was still bothering her. He was starting to get the panicked feeling that she might be rethinking this.

Jane knew he wasn't a prize. He was a middle-aged conman living out of a trailer. He had been shut down emotionally for so long that giving a hug felt like a revelation to him. He wasn't exactly the most stable or reliable person on earth. He caused her a lot of grief.

The truth was, Lisbon deserved someone better. She deserved a nice house husband who would be there when she got home from work with a lasagna waiting. He'd have bathed the kids and the house would be clean and the laundry would be done.

Kevin would probably do those things for her. He would have no issue staying at home. Kevin was very secure in his masculinity.

Jane found that he still really hated Kevin.

The fact that she'd chosen him awed him. St. Teresa had been waiting so long for the right man, and the fact that it was him was nothing less than a miracle. He'd had his family, the love of a wonderful woman and the perfect little girl. He'd gotten his allotment of joy for this lifetime—he didn't deserve a second helping.

But there she was, skin pink in the hot water, lazing against his chest. He stroked her arm, spreading the bubbles along the skin there, and pondered how he'd gotten so lucky.

He kissed her damp hair. "You know I love you, right?" he asked quietly.

She sighed, stretching her legs along his. "I know," she confirmed.

"I mean it Teresa," he said, his voice serious. She craned her neck to look at him. "I love you. Completely. I'm weak with it."

Her eyes watered just a little at his words. "I love you too Jane."

He drew in a breath. "I didn't think I'd ever be this happy again."

There was a pregnant pause after his words, and then she swallowed thickly. She turned in his arms (not the easiest process and it involved a lot of water getting on the floor) and wrapped her arms around his neck.

She kissed him, deeply and passionately. He reveled in the feel of her soapy body sliding along his, slick and soft.

He'd never been kissed like this before by her, like she was desperate, aching. He ran his hands along her back, her hips, cupped her bottom.

She pulled her lips away only long enough to suck on the skin of his neck, his jaw, his ear. Her hands were restless, sliding down his chest to touch his stomach, leaving a trail of fire in their path.

He drew in a sharp breath when she grasped him.

He'd expected foreplay (he really liked foreplay, actually), but she was in a hurry so who was he to complain? He arranged them so her legs were wrapped around his waist, and she guided him inside of her. She threw back her head on a moan, and started to move, water sloshing out of the tub with the rhythm of her body.

He grasped her hips in one hand, the edge of the tub in the other. She was wild, keening and digging her nails into the flesh of his back. He felt overwhelmed but in an intoxicating, thrilling way. He was pretty sure Teresa was _taking him_ and he loved every second of it.

When she bit his ear , he grasped her hips and thrust into her hard, making her scream a little. Their movements became almost violent, searching, demanding. She had her tongue in his mouth then, her fists in his hair. He was holding her hips so tightly he thought he'd bruise her. There was more water out of the tub than in it.

When she came it was with a wail, her hips rocking, eyes closed. He followed, unable to hold back, grateful he hadn't beaten her there.

They stayed tangled like that, slippery and wet and shivering, for a few minutes. Then he lifted her carefully out of the tub, wrapping her in a towel. He dried her off quickly, then himself, throwing a few more towels onto the mess on the floor. He carried her to the bed, her head lolling sleepily against his chest.

She looked exhausted. He wondered what had come over her, but he wasn't complaining.

He returned to the bathroom for her brush, so her hair wouldn't tangle, and he caught sight of himself in the mirror. She'd actually bitten his shoulder, and there were tiny pinpricks of blood there.

He touched it, surprised.

Then he went back to the bedroom, brushed out her hair, and tucked her in. He slid into the bed behind her, gathering her in his arms. He wrapped his arm around her middle, pulling her against his chest, tucking her legs against his.

She mumbled something sleepily.

"Whatever it is, Teresa," he said solemnly. "It's going to be okay."

He listened to her heavy breathing, but it took a long time for him to fall asleep.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Thanks again for the reviews for my chapters as well as my co-authors', and thanks for all the beautiful support of our fic. So glad so many seemed to enjoy it, and that perhaps it helped us all through the long wait until the hiatus is over. But, all good things must come to an end, even extended fanfic tags.

**Chapter 9: Conclusion and Epilogue**

_December 25, 2013_

_Dear Lisbon,_

_Christmas in paradise doesn't seem much like Christmas. It's still a balmy 75 degrees, the sun is sparkling on the sea, and you can have a fruity drink with an umbrella while on the radio Elvis sings "Blue Christmas." It's very surreal._

_I can't tell you how much I miss those tacky decorations Van Pelt loved to festoon the bullpen with, or how Rigsby would pilfer half the Christmas cookies Mrs. Simmons from Accounting put in the break room every year. And did you know it was Cho who slipped the bookstore gift cards on everyone's desk (including his own, to divert suspicion) each Christmas Eve? Ah, Cho. He always pretended to be a Scrooge, but I knew better. _

_But mostly, Lisbon, I miss the expression on your face when I gave you your gift every year. Believe it or not, I always planned it for weeks, turning over and over in my mind what you had most likely wanted as a girl but never got, or something you longed for in the present. It was the most fun I had all year, and your delighted smile when I got it right was the best gift of all. So when you open your gift this year, I won't be there, but I would like to think your smile will be just as brilliant as I remember it._

_Merry Christmas, Teresa._

_Yours,_

_P._

_P.S.: The shell is called a cowry, in case you're wondering._

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

It wasn't often that Jane was totally and completely at a loss about something, but the morning after their wild lovemaking in the bathtub, he was still pondering the reason behind it. Lisbon had seemed desperate to evoke a specific reaction from him, and that bite was a mark of possession upon his body, like a brand or a tattoo. It tore at his heart that she felt the need to do that. Didn't she know that he was hers, body and soul (such as it was)?

He'd been pondering her gift for weeks, like he had always done, but it hadn't been until three days before Christmas that he had decided on the perfect thing. It would be a shock, but he was fairly certain it was something she wanted more than anything this year. He could already imagine her smile (as he always did) when she saw her gift, and it made his heart skip a beat at this step he was about to take-something that would tie them together for many Christmases to come. But before he could do it, he felt compelled to discover what was behind the little gift she'd given him on the shoulder the night before.

"You were pretty into it last night," he said casually. "Not that I'm complaining, mind you."

She was not forthcoming.

"I don't know," she said as they ate their Christmas pancakes, cross-legged in front of the blazing fireplace, the tree lights blinking merrily nearby. "Last night I was just…in a mood."

Jane knew enough about women to know that when they said it was _nothing,_ it was definitely _something,_ and usually a pretty big _something_ (at least in their minds). _Women_. It took all his self-control not to roll his eyes.

"I'm not complaining," he reassured her. "It was just a side of you I'd never seen before. Something's got you upset, and as your live-in lover slash significant other, I think I've got a right to know. I might be able to fix it, if you give me the chance."

She was quiet so long, staring into the flames, that he began to feel panicky again. Maybe she was second-guessing the whole live-in aspect of their relationship. But then, why had she seemed so desperate, like she was trying with all her might to hold on to him?

She pasted on a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes and set down her empty plate on the hearth.

"Enough of this maudlin talk. It's Christmas!" she said with forced brightness. "Don't you want to see your present?"

"Teresa—"

"No," she said firmly. "No more of this, not today." She got up and went to the mantle, retrieving his Christmas stocking. It bulged at the toe with what looked like a small box. He looked up at her, wanting more than anything to get to the bottom of this, but her eyes were pleading with him to drop it, so with a sigh, he did.

For now.

She sat down beside him again and waited expectantly. When he took out the box her expression turned genuine, and with some relief, he opened it. It was a key, with the familiar emblem of a horse in the middle of a heraldic shield. His look was of incredible surprise.

"You didn't," he said, in awe, his green eyes round as a little boy's on Christmas morning—which, of course, wasn't too far from the truth.

She was smiling brilliantly, the last-minute purchase of the night before her most inspired ever.

"Look out the window," she said. It had been delivered in the night, just as she'd directed (and paid extra for). He got up and rolled open the mini blind to see a white 1964 Porsche convertible parked outside the townhouse.

"Teresa," he growled. "What the hell-?"

She shrugged. "You bought _me_ a house…"

It had taken a good chunk of the money she'd gotten for her other house in Washington, but he needed a car, and not the clunky pick-up truck attached to his Airstream. Something decidedly more…_Jane_. His Citroen was back at his house in Malibu, damaged from the blast when his outbuilding exploded, and she'd had someone park it in his garage there for safe keeping. But she knew it held too many memories of the years he drove it in search of Red John, and she felt instinctively that he needed a change to go along with his new life post Red John. He seemed to like classic cars, and the car dealer assured her this was an excellent choice, in top condition for its age. The thought of them driving with the top down on a road trip to the Gulf, his hair tousled by the wind, had sealed the deal.

She joined him at the window, her arms circling his waist from behind, her chin resting on his shoulder. She didn't notice how he briefly tensed at her movement.

"Wow," he said, turning in her arms. "It's incredible."

"Shall we take it for a spin later?" she asked, pleased she had actually surprised him for once.

"Just try and stop me, woman" he teased, kissing her passionately.

"Merry Christmas, Patrick" she said almost shyly. He lifted up her chin and kissed her pert nose.

"Thank you. And if it was your Christmas wish to get me to slow down in my driving, you definitely chose the wrong car."

"I've decided that I'm through trying to control your speed on anything," she said wistfully. "So, if you can't beat 'em…"

He raised an eyebrow. "Buy 'em a Porsche?"

She chuckled. "I guess so."

They kissed again, the passion flaring between them, but Lisbon pushed gently on his chest before they ended up in bed for the entire morning. She had things to do.

"Hey," he protested, trying to recapture her lips. "I thought you said you were through slowing me down."

She patted his bearded cheek and moved to pick up their breakfast dishes.

"It works both ways, buster. But seriously, if that turkey is going to be ready by dinnertime, I'd better get a move-on. It's already ten o'clock."

She'd insisted on a big Christmas dinner with all the trimmings, even though it was just going to be the two of them, but she wanted to show off a little for him and christen her new kitchen at the same time. He gave an exaggerated sigh.

"I can't believe you're choosing a turkey over sex."

"Once you taste my mother's famous stuffing, you'll know I made the right decision."

He laughed and headed off down the hall, where she assumed he was going to take a shower. She pushed the thought of his wedding ring out of her mind. Really, she had so much to be grateful for. Jane was back in her life, and she knew he truly loved her. He had given her this house as the ultimate Christmas present, and they were for all intents and purposes living together. It was like all of her wildest dreams come true, and she'd be a fool to ruin it over one trifling detail (it hadn't seemed trifling for the past few days, but she resolved not to think about that now). He would take that ring off when he was damn good and ready. What she'd said about his new car should apply to their new life together too, she realized; she wasn't about to slow down what progress they'd made by giving Jane some sort of ultimatum to speed things up faster than he was prepared to go.

She had just put the giant bird in the sink when the doorbell rang. Who could that be on a Christmas morning? Cho was her only other real friend in Austin, and he had already given her his annual gift card. He'd confessed with a shy smile that yes, he'd been the one to gift the old team with one every year. She'd thanked him with an impulsive hug that embarrassed him to no end. Jane had been right about Cho, of course, the old fraud. Lisbon had given Cho a first edition of _To Kill a Mockingbird. _He'd fingered the small volume in awe, passing his hand over the embossed cover reverently. That was more than thanks enough for Lisbon.

So it was with great curiosity that she went to the door that Christmas morning, wiping her hands on a dish towel as she walked. But when she peeked through the peephole, she saw no one there.

"Huh," she said, bemused.

She shrugged, figuring someone had realized they were at the wrong address. She'd just turned away from the door when the sound of whimpering stopped her, and she cautiously grasped the doorknob. Her cop instincts in high gear, her hand went automatically to her empty hip, fully aware that there were lots of scams like this on Christmas, where robbers lured homeowners to the front door, then pushed their way inside, stealing all their expensive new presents. She looked outside again, then, making sure the chain was secure, slowly opened the door.

Her eyes scanned the empty porch, but when the whimpering came again, followed by a very insistent little bark, she looked down. A white and gray ball of fluff was struggling to get out of a blue velvet lined basket, it's little cry of frustration melting her heart immediately. She removed the chain and squatted down, picking up the Australian shepherd puppy, the bluest eyes she'd ever seen peering up at her in gratitude as it happily wagged its stump of a tail.

"Oh, my God! Where did you come from?"

She sensed Jane behind her and turned around, holding the wriggling puppy to her face.

"I see you've met your present," he said, his eyes laughing as the excited little creature licked her face. She laughed.

"You bought me a dog," she said in wonder, her tone very similar to Jane's as he'd beheld his new Porsche.

Jane joined her near the open door, fluffing up the puppy's fur before kissing Lisbon on the cheek.

"Merry Christmas, my love," he said with a serene smile. He went to the open door.

"Thanks, Mrs. Sherridan," he called outside.

His partner in crime peered around the wall of the neighboring townhouse. "You're welcome. He's a little joy," she said. "Anytime you need me to dog sit, you just let me know."

"Thank you!" said Lisbon, "Merry Christmas!" She gave their neighbor a happy wave, cuddling the puppy closer, who barked for emphasis, twisting now in an effort to get down. Jane picked up the basket from the porch and they closed the door behind them, both of them laughing as the pup stumbled and sniffed its way around the living room.

They played with their new addition on the floor for a few minutes, and when Jane rolled it over on its back to rub its tummy with his left hand, Lisbon realized that something was missing.

"Your ring," she said softly.

Jane shrugged, as if it wasn't one of the most momentous things he'd done since killing Red John with his bare hands.

"I thought it was about time, don't you?"

He caught her eyes and held them, the puppy momentarily forgotten despite its little needle teeth gnawing away on Jane's fingers.

Lisbon's words caught in her throat, and all she could do was nod. But there really wasn't a need for words. They both knew what this meant, for both of them.

They played a little longer, until Lisbon suddenly popped up, remembering the turkey. When she heard Jane in the shower, the puppy occupied with a chew toy that had been in his basket, Lisbon put the stuffed turkey in the oven and, leaning against the stainless steel sink of her new townhouse, quietly sobbed with relief and overwhelming joy.

Later, after a meal in which Jane proclaimed that Lisbon's mother's stuffing was indeed better than sex, they bundled up and drove around Austin in Jane's new car, the top down so they could better see the Christmas lights.

"You always know what to get me for Christmas," she said, holding his hand at a stop light. "Don't tell me you're not psychic."

"Nope," he said, bringing her hand to his lips. "Just paying attention."

_Eventually, _Jane added sheepishly to himself, his left hand feeling much lighter, along go with his heart.

The light turned green and, just to test her, he loudly revved the engine before speeding across the intersection.

But Lisbon only laughed.

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

**Epilogue**

Four days later, the contents of Lisbon's house in Washington were packed up into the moving van, the movers on their way to Austin. Jane had another surprise for Lisbon. He'd extended their layover time in San Francisco by a few hours to catch a later flight, ushering an annoyed Lisbon out to a taxi that took them to a seafood place on the Bay. As it turned out, Cho was already just across the Bay in Oakland to see his mother for the holidays, and Rigsby and Grace drove from Sacramento to meet them. Over fresh lobster and scallops, the old CBI team laughed and reminisced about the first time they'd eaten at a seafood place as a team, Van Pelt's first case with the CBI.

"Things certainly have changed since then," Grace said, looking wistfully around the table at her former colleagues and lifelong friends. "I was so green," she said, shaking her head at herself. She took a drink of wine.

Jane grinned. "But you were very earnest in your innocence."

"I was a fool," she countered. "For one thing, I tackled arguing religion with you on that very first night."

"There was no way you could have known what an ass he was," said Lisbon sympathetically. Jane didn't even appear offended; in fact, he looked rather lovingly at her.

Cho hid a grin behind a slug of beer.

Rigsby laughed. "And I could have killed you, Jane, for blowing my game. I could have had Grace in the sack that very night if you hadn't spooked her."

Grace elbowed her husband in the side, and he gave a yelp of pain. "You wish."

"So," said Rigsby, wisely changing the subject. "How goes it in the FBI? I have to say, I'm really a bit disappointed, you guys going over to the dark side and all."

There had always been an animosity between the CBI and the Feds, and Rigsby was only partly kidding.

"It's an adjustment," said Lisbon. "But it's also a bit of a relief. For one thing, I no longer have to clean up after Jane, so my job is absolutely heavenly now."

Grace laughed. "I bet."

"Aw, my love, but you make up for it by cleaning up all my messes at home."

Lisbon would never believe that his words had accidentally slipped out, as he would claim on the plane later. Three pairs of surprised eyes alighted on them (well, Cho was only surprised that Jane had actually announced it), and Grace audibly gasped.

"You two are…?"

Lisbon blushed, wanting to both kill and kiss her handsome lover at the same time.

Jane brought their joined hands from where they'd been hiding them beneath the table. "You may send any future Christmas greetings to the same address," he confirmed. "Lisbon finally bullied me into admitting my true feelings for her, forced me to move in with her, and keeps me handcuffed to her bed at night."

"I do not," Lisbon protested, red to her hair. "Shut up," she muttered beneath her breath. But he squeezed her hand and his grin merely widened.

"Oh my God," said Grace, "that's really…wonderful! Right, Wayne?"

"Yeah," he said, still trying to decide if Jane's crack about the handcuffs was true. He blushed, then said with more enthusiasm: "It's about time. Congratulations, you guys."

There was a sudden commotion as Cho, Rigsby, and Grace reached for their wallets. Grace grinned at her new pile of twenties.

Jane looked at Lisbon and smiled.

"The pool started over when you came back, Jane," Grace explained. My prediction was you'd be together within five months; Cho said six, and Rigsby said…never."

Rigsby looked sheepish. "Well, I figured if it hadn't happened after ten years working together at the CBI…"

"That's okay, Wayne," said Jane. "If I were a betting man, I would have been skeptical too."

"But you _are_ a betting man," said Lisbon suspiciously.

Cho and Jane's eyes met, and Cho forked over a twenty to Jane.

"I'd said four," Jane explained. "Cho and I had a little side action going. Sorry, guys."

"You people are all despicable," said Lisbon, looking in disgust at the men and woman she'd thought were her friends.

"Pay up, Boss," said Grace with a laugh, eyeing Lisbon accusingly.

Jane laughed. "Why you little hypocrite. And wait—should I be offended here? What was _your_ bet?"

Lisbon averted her eyes, tossing Grace a twenty.

Grace answered for her. "I believe her exact words were: _Never in a million years._"

"Ha. You don't say. Well, Lisbon, I guess we surprised everyone, including you."

"Not me," said Grace, Lady of the Pile of Cash.

"Guess you're buying then," said Rigsby, reaching for her winnings.

"Hey-!"

"What's mine is yours, remember darling?"

And things went on from there.

It was more difficult to say good-bye than Lisbon had expected, but they left with promises of future visits and keeping in better touch. Cho would be heading back to Austin on New Year's Day.

"Bring the kids out to Austin," Lisbon said, walking with Grace to the door of the restaurant. "They can play with our new puppy, Blue."

"You two got a dog? This really _is_ serious," she said, her voice gently teasing.

"Yes," said Lisbon with a small smile, glancing at Jane who was chuckling at something Rigsby had said. He caught her eye and winked. "It really is."

The two women embraced, and Lisbon wiped at tears as the taxi sped back toward the airport. She missed them all being together like this, but she had hope that maybe one day, their paths would be such that they might work together again. Or maybe their children would play together on future holidays. That thought was so unexpectedly inviting that she allowed herself to imagine it for a few moments.

_One thing at a time, Teresa, _she told herself.

Beside her in the back seat, Jane pulled her closer, kissing her temple lovingly, still awash in the warmth of good friends.

"I can't wait to get home," she said with a sigh, nestling against him. And it was wonderful to think that it was _their_ home that they were returning to. No more waiting, no more regrets, for either of them.

"Me neither," he concurred.

And as the taxi maneuvered through traffic, Lisbon smiled to hear Jane softly humming the tune to "Deep in the Heart of Texas." She closed her eyes and listened.

**THE END**

**A/N: Okay, this was fluffy, even for me. But the idea of them being together like this is just so heartwarming, I couldn't help myself. I hope we're not disappointed with the way things go on the show. **

**Thanks again to my co-writers. This has been an awesome experience, and I couldn't have worked with two lovelier ladies. **

**Merry Christmas, and a blessed New Year to all!**


End file.
